NEVER believe me if I love, Or know what 'tis, or mean to prove; And yet in faith I lie, I do, And she's extremely handsome too: She 's fair, she 's wondrous fair, But I care not who know it. Ere I 'll die for love, I 'll fairly forgo it. This heat of hope, or cold of fear, My foolish heart could never bear: One sigh imprison'd ruins more Than earthquakes have done heretofore. She 's fair, etc. When I am hungry, I do eat, And cut no fingers 'stead of meat; Nor with much gazing on her face, Do e'er rise hungry from the place. She 's fair, etc. A gentle round fill'd to the brink To this and t' other friend I drink; And when 'tis nam'd another's health, I never make it hers by stealth. She 's fair, etc. Blackfriars to me, and old Whitehall, Is even as much as is the fall Of fountains on a pathless grove, And nourishes as much my love. She 's fair, etc. I visit, talk, do business, play, And for a need laugh out a day: Who does not thus in Cupid's school, He makes not love, but plays the fool. She 's fair, she 's wondrous fair, But I care not who know it, Ere I 'll die for love, I 'll fairly forgo it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: AUGUST by EDMUND SPENSER UPON WEDLOCK, AND DEATH OF CHILDREN by EDWARD TAYLOR THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS A POEM OF SPRING by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE DANGER OF DISCONTENT by E.-G. BAYFIELD LENIN by VALERY YAKOVLEVICH BRYUSOV TO THE DAUGHTER OF A NYMPH by AGNES COCHRAN BUAMBLETT GIFTS by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT LINES ADDRESSED TO THE REV. J.T. BECHER by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |