Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 39, by THOMAS CAMPION



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A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 39, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Kind in unkindness, when will you relent
Last Line: And place my joys where my desires would be.
Subject(s): Love Complaints


KIND in unkindness, when will you relent
And cease with faint love true love to torment?
Still entertained, excluded still I stand;
Her glove still hold, but cannot touch the hand.

In her fair hand my hopes and comforts rest:
O might my fortunes with that hand be blest!
No envious breaths then my deserts could shake,
For they are good whom such true love doth make

O let not beauty so forget her birth,
That it should fruitless home return to earth!
Love is the fruit of beauty, then love one!
Not your sweet self, for such self-love is none.

Love one that only lives in loving you;
Whose wronged deserts would you with pity view,
This strange distaste which your affections sways
Would relish love, and you find better days.

Thus till my happy sight your beauty views,
Whose sweet remembrance still my hope renews,
Let these poor lines solicit love for me,
And place my joys where my desires would be.





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