My Lord, These are the gloves that I did mention Last night, and 'twas with the intention That you should give me thanks and wear them, For I most willingly can spare them. When you this packet first do see, "Damn me!" cry you, "she has writ to me. I had better be at Bretby still Than troubled with love against my will. Besides, this is not all my sorrow: She writ today, she'll come tomorrow." Then you consider the adventure And think you never shall content her. But when you do the inside see, You'll find things are but as they should be, And that 'tis neither love nor passion, But only for your recreation. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WORK by ALEKSANDR SERGEYEVICH PUSHKIN CORYDON - A PASTORAL by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE PLACE OF REMEMBRANCE by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER METAMORPHOSES: 11. INVOCATION OF ISIS by LUCIUS APULEIUS EPITAPH FOR A CONDEMNED BOOK by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE EMPORIUM VERSUS NEW YORK, 1854 by JACOB BIGELOW WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF HIS POEMS, FOR CHLORIS by ROBERT BURNS |