Being my selfe captyved here in care, My hart, whom none with servile bands can tye, But the fayre tresses of your golden hayre, Breaking his prison, forth to you doth fly. Like as a byrd, that in ones hand doth spy Desired food, to it doth make his flight, Even so my hart, that wont on your fayre eye To feed his fill, flyes backe unto your sight. Doe you him take, and in your bosome bright Gently encage, that he may be your thrall: Perhaps he there may learne, with rare delight, To sing your name and prayses over all, That it hereafter may you not repent, Him lodging in your bosome to have lent. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. CHARLES BLISS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS FUCHSIA HEDGES IN CONNACHT by PADRAIC COLUM MARCO BOZZARIS by FITZ-GREENE HALLECK AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 6. A WIFE WAITS by THOMAS HARDY SUMMER STORM by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL MARY'S GIRLHOOD (FOR A PICTURE): 1 by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE WORMS AT HEAVEN'S GATE by WALLACE STEVENS ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. MR. GEORGE WHITEFIELD, 1770 by PHILLIS WHEATLEY |