WHEN I began my Love to sow, Because with Venus' doves I plow'd, Fool that I was, I did not know That frowns for furrows were allow'd. The broken heart to make clods torn By the sharp arrows of Disdain, Crumbled by pressing rolls of Scorn, Gives issue to the springing grain. Coyness shuts Love into a stove; So frost-bound lands their own heat feed: Neglect sits brooding upon Love, As pregnant snow on winter-seed. The harvest is not till we two Shall into one contracted be; Love's crop alone doth richer grow, Decreasing to identity. All other things not nourish'd are But by Assimilation: Love, in himself and diet spare, Grows fat by Contradiction. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPIGRAM ON MY WEDDING DAY: TO PENELOPE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON MILTON; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW RENCONTRE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE DEBT by KATHARINE LEE BATES ASOLANDO: REPHAN by ROBERT BROWNING |