Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LOVE'S FRANCISCAN, by HENRY CONSTABLE



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LOVE'S FRANCISCAN, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Sweet hand! The sweet yet cruel bow thou art
Last Line: Thy arrows quiver, and thy relics shine.


Sweet hand! the sweet yet cruel bow thou art,
From whence as one, five ivory arrows fly,
So with five wounds at once I wounded lie
Bearing in breast the print of every dart.
Saint Francis had the like, yet felt no smart:
Where I in living torments never die;
His wounds were in his hands and feet where I
All these same helpless wounds feel in my heart.
Now as Saint Francis (if a saint) am I.
The bow which shot these shafts a relic is;
I mean the hand, which is the reason why
So many for devotion thee would kiss,
And I thy glove kiss as a thing divine;
Thy arrows quiver, and thy relics shine.





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