Go, go, quaint follies, sugared sin, Shadow no more my door; I will no longer cobwebs spin, I'm too much on the score. For since amidst my youth and night, My great preserver smiles, We'll make a match, my only light, And join against their wiles; Blind, desp'rate @3fits@1, that study how To dress and trim our shame, That gild rank poison, and allow Vice in a fairer name; The @3purls@1 of youthful blood and bowls, Lust in the robes of love, The idle talk of fev'rish souls Sick with a scarf, or glove; Let it suffice my warmer days Simpered and shined on you, Twist not my cypress with your bays, Or roses with my yew; Go, go, seek out some greener thing, It snows, and freezeth here; Let nightingales attend the spring, Winter is all my year. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE MOON by HAYDEN CARRUTH SONNET: 13. TO MR. H. LAWES, ON HIS AIRS by JOHN MILTON TO A PORTRAIT by ARTHUR WILLIAM SYMONS JOHN CHARLES FREMONT by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE SPROUTING BOARD by AL-ISRA'ILI MY LITTLE CAPE COD MAIDEN by KATHERINE FINNIGAN ANDERSON TO MRS W. ON HER EXCELLENT VERSES WRITTEN IN A FIT OF SICKNESS by APHRA BEHN |