DOST thou still hope thou shalt be fair, When no more fair to me? Or those that by thee taken were Hold their captivity? Is this thy confidence? No, no; Trust it not; it can not be so. But thou too late, too late shalt find 'Twas I that made thee fair; Thy beauties never from thy mind But from my loving were; And those delights that did thee stole Confessed the vicinage of my soul. The rosy reflex of my heart Did thy pale cheek attire; And what I was, not what thou art, Did gazers-on admire. Go, and too late thou shalt confess I looked thee into loveliness! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BALLADE OF DEAD LADIES by FRANCOIS VILLON PRELUDE by JOHN MILLINGTON SYNGE PRAYER OF COLUMBUS by WALT WHITMAN LIBERTINE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN AUTUMN SUNSET ON THE SIERRA NEVADAS by DOROTHY BOARDMAN |