WHILE from our looks, fair nymph, you guess The secret passions of our mind, My heavy eyes, you say, confess A heart to love and grief inclined. There needs, alas! but little art, To have this fatal secret found; With the same ease you threw the dart, 'Tis certain you may show the wound. How can I see you, and not love, While you as opening east are fair? While cold as northern blasts you prove, How can I love, and not despair! The wretch in double fetters bound Your potent mercy may release; Soon, if my love but once were crowned, Fair prophetess, my grief would cease. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET TO MASTER GABRIELL HARVEY, DOCTOR OF LAWES by EDMUND SPENSER NUPTIAL SONG by JOHN BYRNE LEICESTER WARREN THE PREACHER by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER FATA MORGANA by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE SICK KING IN BOKHARA by MATTHEW ARNOLD ZEUS TOO IS A VICTIM by ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS A HINT FROM THE BEGINNING OF THE THIRD SATIRE OF JUVENAL by PHILIP AYRES |