Hope, like the hyaena, coming to be old, Alters his shape; is turned into Despair. Pity my hoary hopes! Maid of Clear Mould! Think not that frowns can ever make thee fair. What harm is it to kiss, to laugh, to play? Beauty's no blossom, if it be not used. Sweet dalliance keeps the wrinkles long away: Repentance follows them that have refused. To bring you to the knowledge of your good I seek, I sue. O try, and then believe! Each image can be chaste that's carved of wood. You show you live when men you do relieve. Iron with wearing shines. Rust wasteth treasure. On earth, but love there is no other pleasure. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HIS IMMORTALITY by THOMAS HARDY MEMORY OF THE IRISH DEAD by JOHN KELLS INGRAM SONNET WRITTEN IN THE FALL OF 1914: 1 by GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY WHITE SNOW by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE WEE WILLIE GRAY by ROBERT BURNS ROMANCE by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT SIX CHINA PIGS IN AN ARKANSAS CEMETERY by IRENE CARLISLE THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN: 9. THE LEGEND OF HYPERMNESTRA by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |