O goodly hand, Wherein doth stand Mine heart distrast in pain; Fair hand, alas, In little space My life that doth restrain. O fingers slight, Departed right, So long, so small, so round; Goodly begone, And yet alone Most cruel in my wound. With lilies white And roses bright Doth strive thy color fair; Nature did lend Each finger's end A pearl for to repair. Consent at last, Since that thou hast My heart in thy demesne, For service true On me to rue And reach me love again. And if not so, Then with more woe Enforce thyself to strain This simple heart, That suffereth smart, And rid it out of pain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PAINS OF SLEEP by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: SAD AND CHEERFUL SONGS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES A FAREWELL by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON HOME, SWEET HOME WITH VARIATIONS: 5. OLIVER GOLDSMITH by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER ON THE PALATINE HILL by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |