Me thought, (last night) love in an anger came, And brought a rod, so whipt me with the same: Mirtle the twigs were, meerly to imply; Love strikes, but 'tis with gentle crueltie. Patient I was: Love pitifull grew then, And stroak'd the stripes, and I was whole agen. Thus like a Bee, Love-gentle stil doth bring Hony to salve, where the before did sting. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DAY DREAM by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE GARDEN YEAR by SARA COLERIDGE A NOCTURNAL REVERIE by ANNE FINCH THE RABBIT by ELIZABETH MADOX ROBERTS ON CYNTHIA, SINGING A RECITATIVE PIECE OF MUSIC by PHILIP AYRES |