SHE held a cup and ball of ivory white, Less white the ivory than her snowy hand! Enrapt I watch'd her from my secret stand, As now, intent, in innocent delight, Her taper fingers twirl'd the giddy ball, Now tost it, following still with eagle sight, Now on the pointed end infix'd its fall. Marking her sport I mused, and musing sigh'd, Methought the ball she play'd with was my heart! (Alas! that sport like that should be her pride!) And the keen point which steadfast still she eyed Wherewith to pierce it, that was Cupid's dart; Shall I not then the cruel fair condemn Who on that dart impales my bosom's gem? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE [ON THE POETS] by JOHN KEATS MUTABILITY (2) by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ON BURNING A DULL POEM; WRITTEN IN 1729 by JONATHAN SWIFT CHRISTMAS EPITHALAMIUM by WILLIAM HERVEY ALLEN JR. IN IMITATION OF HORACE by APHRA BEHN AVELINGLAS by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |