LOVE, though thou great & dreadfull art, With Boldnes Thou hast fir'd my Hart, Which trembles not to aim at Thee Ev'n with that Dart Thou shott'st at Me: Twas Love Thou shott'st; & that art Thou; And at thy Self thy Self I throw. I throw thy Self; but loe my Hart Still sticking is upon thy Dart. 2. PART And dost Thou shoot, dear LORD, again At him whome Thou before hadst slain? This Deaths Life kills me so, that I Must shoot again, or else I dy. I dy, unless I live to see This Hart & Life quite lost in Thee. Fair is my Aim, & high my Trust; Thy Side's wide ope, & shoot I must. Lo: Bid it welcome unto Thine, Else can my Hart no more be mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVE'S MIRACLE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE VISION by GEORGE SANTAYANA RIDDLE ON THE LETTER H (2) by CATHERINE MARIA FANSHAWE REUBEN JAMES by JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE A PRAYER by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL AN AUTOGRAPH (1) by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER EMANCIPATION IN THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA, APRIL 16, 1862 by JAMES MADISON BELL |