TO you, fair maidens, I address, Sent to adorn your life; And she who first my name can guess, Shall first be made a wife. From the dark womb of mother earth, To mortal's aid I come; But ere I can receive my birth, I many shapes assume. Passive by nature, yet I'm made As active as the roe; And oftentimes, with equal speed, Through flowery lawns I go. When wicked men their wealth consume, And leave their children poor, To me their daughters often come, And I encrease their store. The women of the wiser kind, Did never once refuse me; But yet I never once could find That maids of honour use me. The lily hand and brilliant eye, May charm without my aid; Beauty may strike the lover's eye, And love inspire the maid. But let the' enchanting nymph be told, Unless I grace her life, She must have wondrous store of gold, Or make a wretched wife. Although I never hope to rest, With Christians I go forth; And while they worship to the east, I prostrate to the north. If you suspect hypocrisy, Or think me insincere, Produce the zealot, who, like me, Can tremble and adhere. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BALLAD OF THE DARK LADIE; A FRAGMENT by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE WE PARTED IN SILENCE by JULIA CRAWFORD LOVE TO THE CHURCH by TIMOTHY DWIGHT DUNS SCOTUS'S OXFORD by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: THE BEGINNER by RUDYARD KIPLING MONT BLANC; LINES WRITTEN IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY |