THIS silken wreath, which circles in mine arm, Is but an emblem of that mystic charm Wherewith the magic of your beauties binds My captive soul, and round about it winds Fetters of lasting love. This hath entwin'd My flesh alone; that hath impal'd my mind. Time may wear out these soft weak bands, but those Strong chains of brass Fate shall not discompose. This holy relic may preserve my wrist, But my whole frame doth by that power subsist: To that my prayers and sacrifice, to this I only pay a superstitious kiss. This but the idol, that's the deity; Religion there is due; here, ceremony. That I receive by faith, this but in trust; Here I may tender duty: there, I must. This order as a layman I may bear, But I become Love's priest when that I wear. This moves like air; that as the centre stands; That knot your virtue tied; this but your hands. That, Nature fram'd; but this was made by Art; This makes my arm your prisoner; that, my heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MY NINETH DECADE by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: HIAWATHA'S FASTING by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE STENOGRAPHERS by PATRICIA KATHLEEN PAGE ODE: INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH TO HIS HEART, BIDDING IT HAVE NO FEAR by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SACRED LYRIC by ISIDORE G. ASCHER THE LAST MAN: KISSES by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |