PARDON, my Fair! subdue those angry lights! Penitence shall with industry combine In restoration of exacted rights Which, being grudged, were and yet were not mine. 'Twas but an hour—and yet 'twas thrice too long— That left your lonely wilful head unkissed; And what that can be wrought, sonnet or song, Shall recompense you for such gladness missed? Henceforward I forswear the golden lure, The turning wheel, the watch, the breathless pause, The Muse, and all the covetous game unsure, For love's domestic and sedater laws. Well may my purse of time in play be spent, But never yours, nor your desired content. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER THE PAPAGO by JAMES GALVIN SENRYU: BLIND DATE by TIMOTHY LIU THE DEATH OF SLAVERY by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE PRISONER OF CHILLON: INTRODUCTORY SONNET by GEORGE GORDON BYRON AN EPITAPH UPON HUSBAND AND WIFE WHO DIED AND WERE BURIED by RICHARD CRASHAW |