MEN sought, ambition's thirst to slake, The lost elixir old Whose magic touch should instant make The meaner metals gold. A nobler alchymy is thine Which love from pain doth press: Gold in thy hand becomes divine, Grows truth and tenderness. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: FOX TROT by EDITH SITWELL TO JOHN DONNE (1) by BEN JONSON UPON A WASP CHILLED WITH COLD by EDWARD TAYLOR THE CRISIS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE LAY OF ST. CUTHBERT; OR THE DEVIL'S DINNER-PARTY by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 14. 'I LOVE THEE' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |