O how the pleasant airs of true love be Infected by those vapours which arise From out that noisome gulf, which gaping lies Between the jaws of hellish jealousy: A monster, others' harm, self-misery, Beauty's plague, virtue's scourge, succour of lies; Who his own joy to his own hurt applies, And only cherish doth with injury; Who, since he hath, by nature's special grace, So piercing paws, as spoil when they embrace; So nimble feet, as stir still, though on thorns; So many eyes, aye seeking their own woe; So ample ears, as never good news know: Is it not ill that such a devil wants horns? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A YOUNG ASS; ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE BLUE AND THE GRAY by FRANCIS MILES FINCH BETSY'S BATTLE FLAG by MINNA IRVING TIMES GO BY TURNS by ROBERT SOUTHWELL BEFORE PARTING by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE SONG, FR. ARTAXERXES (OPERA) by THOMAS AUGUSTINE ARNE MIRTH by EDITH COURTENAY BABBITT CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: 9. OF HUMILITY by WILLIAM BASSE |