Those amber locks are those same nets, my dear, Wherewith my liberty thou didst surprise; Love was the flame that fired me so near, The dart transpiercing were those crystal eyes. Strong is the net and fervent is the flame; Deep is the wound, my sighs do well report; Yet do I love, adore, and praise the same That holds, that burns, that wounds me in this sort; And list not seek to break, to quench, to heal, The bond, the flame, the wound that fest'reth so; By knife, by liquor, or by salve to deal; So much I please to perish in my woe. Yet lest long travails be above my strength, Good Delia, lose, quench, heal me now at length. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 6. RUINS OF PAESTUM by SARA TEASDALE TO MRS. THRALE [ON HER COMPLETING HER THIRTY-FIFTH YEAR] by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) FOUR PRELUDES ON PLAYTHINGS OF THE WIND by CARL SANDBURG WASTWATER TO SCAWFELL by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN PERSHING AT THE TOMB OF LAFAYETTE by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR |