Hope, art thou true, or dost thou flatter me? Doth Stella now begin with piteous eye The ruins of her conquest to espy; Will she take time, before all wracked be? Her eyes' speech is translated thus by thee: But fail'st thou not, in phrase so heavenly-high? Look on again, the fair text better try; What blushing notes dost thou in margin see? What sighs stol'n out, or killed before full born? Hast thou found such, and such-like arguments? Or art thou else to comfort me forsworn? Well, how so thou interpret the contents, I am resolved thy error to maintain, Rather than by more truth to get more pain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO FINE LADY WOULD-BE by BEN JONSON THE AEOLIAN HARP; AT THE SURF INN by HERMAN MELVILLE THE LOST CHORD by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER THE TRANSLATED WAY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS EDONI: THE WORSHIP OF COTYS by AESCHYLUS THE MASTER BLACKSMITH by ARNOLD ANDREWS A PORTRAIT by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |