No more unto my thoughts appear, At least appear less fair, For crazy tempers justly fear The goodness of the air; Whilst your pure Image hath a place In my impurer Mind, Your very shadow is the glass Where my defects I find. Shall I not fly that brighter light Which makes my fires look pale, And put that vertue out of sight Which makes mine none at all? No, no, your picture doeth impart Such value I not wish The native worth to any heart That 's unadorn'd with this. Though poorer in desert I make My self whilst I admire, The fuel which from hope I take I give to my desire. If this flame lighted from your Eyes The subject do calcine, A Heart may be your sacrifice Too weak to be your shrine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON A VOLUME OF SCHOLASTIC PHILOSOPHY by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE PASSIONS: AN ODE FOR MUSIC by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) FOUR QUARTETS: BURNT NORTON by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT THE WOODSPURGE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED by CAROLINE ANNE BOWLES SOUTHEY |