I heard ye co'd coole heat; and came With hope you would allay the same: Thrice I have washt, but feel no cold, Nor find that true, which was foretold. Me thinks like mine, your pulses beat; And labour with unequall heat: Cure, cure your selves, for I discrie, Ye boil with Love, as well as I. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TIGER, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE STANZAS FOR MUSIC (1) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON HYMN TO GOD MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESS by JOHN DONNE THE POET by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR MY PICTURE-GALLERY by WALT WHITMAN ON THE SALE BY AUCTION OF KEATS' LOVE LETTERS by OSCAR WILDE THE TOOTHPICK by GHALIB IBN RIBAH AL-HAJJAM DESCRIBES THE PLACE WHERE CYNTHIA IS SPORTING HERSELF by PHILIP AYRES |