YES, I'm in love, I feel it now, And Celia has undone me! And yet I'll swear I can't tell how The pleasing plague stole on me. 'Tis not her face that love creates, For there no graces revel; 'Tis not her shape, for there the Fates Have rather been uncivil. 'Tis not her air, for, sure, in that There's nothing more than common; And all her sense is only chat, Like any other woman. Her voice, her touch, might give the alarm, 'Twas both, perhaps, or neither! In short, 'twas that provoking charm Of Celia all together. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SIXTEEN DEAD MEN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS MERCILES BEAUTE; A TRIPLE ROUNDEL: 1. CAPTIVITY by GEOFFREY CHAUCER NINETY-NINE IN THE SHADE by ROSSITER JOHNSON BABY RUNNING BAREFOOT by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 110 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE LUTE OBEYS by THOMAS WYATT LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 10. THE FAIR by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM |