Avising the bright beams of these fair eyes, Where he is that mine oft moisteth and washeth, The wearied mind straight from the heart departeth For to rest in his worldly paradise And find the sweet bitter under this guise. What webs he hath wrought well he perceiveth, Whereby with himself on Love he plaineth That spurreth with fire and bridleth with ice. Thus is it in such extremity brought: In frozen thought now, and now it standeth in flame, 'Twixt misery and wealth, 'twixt earnest and game, But few glad and many a diverse thought, With sore repentance of his hardiness. Of such a root cometh fruit fruitless. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPIGRAM: A LAME BEGGAR by JOHN DONNE THE NEW COLOSSUS by EMMA LAZARUS HE WROTE THE HISTORY BOOK,' IT SAID by MARIANNE MOORE TO MR. THOMAS SOUTHERNE, ON HIS BIRTHDAY, 1742 by ALEXANDER POPE SONNET: 8 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE LOVE AND TIME by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE METAMORPHOSIS OF THE WALNUT-TREE OF BOARSTELL: CANTO 1 by WILLIAM BASSE |