And that's a favour far beyond desert, But not beyond desire I have to love thee. Dost thou desire? I'll rip my wounded heart, And show thee that which there perhaps may move thee; O let me find access unto thy breast, And there receive my almost wearied soul: Her wings are weary, and implore some rest, Her wearied wings their slippery fate condole; And scorn me not that I so much have sought thee, For know, Azile, I have dearly bought thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE AN APPEAL TO MY COUNTRYWOMEN by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 62 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN WORDLY WISE (10) by MOTHER GOOSE THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP by EMMA HART WILLARD THE BEST MEMORIAL by AGATHIAS SCHOLASTICUS |