I PISH! 'tis an idle fond excuse, And Love, enrag'd by this abuse, Is deaf to any longer truce. II My zeal, to lust you still impute, And when I justify my suit, You tell me, '@3Tis Forbidden Fruit@1. III What though your face be apple-round, And with a rosy colour crown'd? Yet, Sweet, it is no apple found. IV Nor have you ought resembling more That fatal fruit the tree once bore, But that indeed your heart's a core. V 'Tis true, the bliss that I would taste, Is something lower than the waist, And in your garden's centre plac't. VI A tree of life too, I confess, Though but arbuscular in dress, Yet not forbidden ne'ertheless. VII It is a tempting golden tree, Which all men must desire that see, Though it concern'd Eternity. VIII Then, since those blessings are thine own, Not subject to contrition, Then, Fairest, Sweetest, grant me one. IX Thy @3Dragon@1, wrapped in drowsiness, Ne'er thinks whose bed thy beauties bless, Nor dreams of his @3Hesperides@1. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN WILL LOVE COME? by PAKENHAM THOMAS BEATTY BEVERLY SHORE IN WINTER by THOMAS GOLD APPLETON AT ONE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE ANNIVERSARIUM BAPTISMI (3) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE TIME FOR PRAYER by G. BENNETT ST. BEE'S HEAD by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |