Yet such it is that I will not exchange My life with those whom Fortune kind entreats, And since it is her arrow that doth range My tender heart, I kiss the rod that beats. I laugh at Cupid, who is overjoy'd With fond conceit, that he hath wrought this fire: But let him be with self-conceit destroy'd; 'Twas not his power, 'twas my own desire; Though Venus' hoodwink'd son doth bear the name, Azile's virtue 'twas did me inflame. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AMONG THE REDWOODS by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL AMORETTI: 70 by EDMUND SPENSER HERACLES AND MELEAGER by BACCHYLIDES SONNET FROM JAPAN: 1. THE SPELL by ADELAIDE NICHOLS BAKER THE SEAMSTRESS by HENRI BARBUSSE A VOICE FOR EDWARD by GLEN BLANCH THE GOLDEN ODES OF PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIA: ANTARA by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |