WHILE from our looks, fair nymph, you guess The secret passions of our mind, My heavy eyes, you say, confess A heart to love and grief inclined. There needs, alas! but little art, To have this fatal secret found; With the same ease you threw the dart, 'Tis certain you may show the wound. How can I see you, and not love, While you as opening east are fair? While cold as northern blasts you prove, How can I love, and not despair! The wretch in double fetters bound Your potent mercy may release; Soon, if my love but once were crowned, Fair prophetess, my grief would cease. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TRUE UNTIL DEATH by ROBERT BURNS SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA by SAMUEL HAWKINS MARSHALL BYERS ARABIA by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE FOR G. by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 1. 1887 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN ODE TO THE WEST WIND by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE DEATH OF ADONIS by THEOCRITUS |