HOR. Whilst, Lydia, I was loved of thee, And ('bout thy ivory neck) no youth did fling His arms more acceptable free, I thought me richer than the Persian king. LYD. Whilst Horace loved no mistress more, Nor after Chloe did his Lydia sound; In name I went all names before, The Roman Ilia was not more renowned. HOR. 'Tis true, I am Thracian Chloe's, I, Who sings so sweet, and with such cunning plays, As, for her, I'd not fear to die, So Fate would give her life, and longer days. LYD. And I am mutually on fire With gentle Calais, Thurine Orinth's son; For whom I doubly would expire, So Fates would let the boy a long thread run. HOR. But, say old love return should make, And us disjoined force to her brazen yoke, That I bright Chloe off should shake; And to left-Lydia, now the gate stood ope. LYD. Though he be fairer than a star; Thou lighter than the bark of any tree, And than rough Adria, angrier, far; Yet would I wish to love, live, die with thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CROSS OF SNOW by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW TO - (1) by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY TO SHELLEY by JOHN BANISTER TABB THE PLANTING by MARGARET LEE ASHLEY OUT A-NUTTEN by WILLIAM BARNES THE PIONEER'S FIELD by RICHARD BECK THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 106. THE SUBLIME: 1 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |