Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind, But as for me, alas, I may no more; The vain travail hath wearied me so sore, I am of them that furthest come behind. Yet may I by no means my wearied mind Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore Fainting I follow; I leave off therefore, Since in a net I seek to hold the wind. Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt. As well as I, may spend his time in vain. And graven with diamonds in letters plain, There is written her fair neck round about, "Noli me tangere" [touch me not], for Caesar's I am, And wild for to hold, though I seem tame. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SOLDIER'S DREAM by THOMAS CAMPBELL THE GARDEN YEAR by SARA COLERIDGE A CELEBRATION OF CHARIS: 4. HER TRIUMPH by BEN JONSON THE TRANSLATION by MARK VAN DOREN THE SORROW OF LOVE (1) by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS LILIES: 20. 'SOME DAY I WILL TELL YOU' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |