Love, though for this you riddle me with darts, And drag me at your chariot till I die, -- Oh, heavy prince! Oh, panderer of hearts! -- Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lie Who shout you mighty: thick about my hair, Day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr, Who still am free, unto no querulous care A fool, and in no temple worshiper! I, that have bared me to your quiver's fire, Lifted my face into its puny rain, Do wreathe you Impotent to Evoke Desire As you are Powerless to Elicit Pain! (Now will the god, for blasphemy so brave, Punish me, surely, with the shaft I crave!) | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LEXINGTON [APRIL 19, 1775] by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES ISAAC AND ARCHIBALD by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON INTO THE TWILIGHT by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS WEIRD FANTASY by IDA MAY BORNCAMP OUTWARDS AND HOMEWARDS by FRANCIS WILLIAM BOURDILLON UPON THIS WORK OF HIS BELOVED FRIEND THE AUTHOR by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |