Nott the disdaynes of her prowde youthly mynde which laughes at love, and scornes to tread his trace Nor my desyres that saile againste the winde nor yett my death, depainted in her face Nor yett my hope ready to suffer wracke with broken masts devoyde off sayle or sturne Nor all the cares that do surcharge my Backe nor that straunge flame wherwith my vaines do burn Nor all my teares lett fall to quench that fire nor all my words which I in Idle waste Nor others love wherto I coulde aspire nor that dislyke that I throughe absence taste Can make me once my fancye to remove Such is the force of true and Constant love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH: A DREAM OF PONCE DE LEON by HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH THE HABIT OF PERFECTION by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS TO G. TRUSTRUM by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN THE FIRST NEMEAEAN ODE OF PINDAR by ABRAHAM COWLEY |