Lyke as a huntsman, after weary chace, Seeing the game from him escapt away, Sits downe to rest him in some shady place, With panting hounds beguiled of their pray: So, after long pursuit and vaine assay, When I all weary had the chace forsooke, The gentle deare returnd the selfe-same way, Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brooke. There she, beholding me with mylder looke, Sought not to fly, but fearlesse still did bide: Till I in hand her yet halfe trembling tooke, And with her owne goodwill hir fyrmely tyde. Strange thing, me seemd, to see a beast so wyld, So goodly wonne, with her owne will beguyld. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PRIESTHOOD by GEORGE HERBERT THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 77. SOUL'S BEAUTY by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI SONGS FOR MY MOTHER: 4. HER STORIES by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH THE DISTURBED WASP; TO WILLIAM BEEBE by ANNE MILLAY BREMER AUTHORS IN LONDON by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB PHEIDIPPIDES by ROBERT BROWNING THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDIE by ROBERT BURNS THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN - PROLOGUE FOR MISS FONTENELLE by ROBERT BURNS |