When love, puffed up with rage of high disdain, Resolved to make me pattern of his might, Like foe, whose wits inclined to deadly spite, Would often kill, to breed more feeling pain; He would not, armed with beauty only, reign On those affects which easily yield to sight, But virtue sets so high, that reason's light, For all his strife, can only bondage gain: So that I live to pay a mortal fee, Dead-palsy-sick of all my chiefest parts; Like those whom dreams make ugly monsters see, And can cry 'Help!' with nought but groans and starts. Longing to have, having no wit to wish, To starving minds such is god Cupid's dish. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE AWAKENING RIVER by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THANATOPSIS by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT FIRST BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 17. SIC TRANSIT by THOMAS CAMPION A FAREWELL TO FOLLY: CONTENT by ROBERT GREENE ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE by JOHN KEATS SUMMER STORM by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL |