LOOK not upon me with those lovely Eyes, From whom there flies So many a dart To wound a heart, That still in vain to thee for mercy cries, Yet dies, whether thou grantest, or denies. Of thy coy looks, know, I do not complain, Nor of disdain: Those, sudden, like The lightning strike, And kill me without any ling'ring pain, And slain so once, I cannot die again. But O, thy sweet looks from my eyes conceal, Which so oft steal My soul from me, And bring to thee A wounded heart, which though it do reveal The hurts thou giv'st it, yet thou canst not heal. Upon those sweets I surfeit still, yet I, Wretch! cannot die: But am reviv'd, And made long liv'd By often dying, since thy gracious eye, Like heaven, makes not a death, but ecstasy. Then in the heaven of that beauteous face, Since thou dost place A martyr'd heart, Whose bliss thou art, Since thou hast ta'en the soul, this favour do, Into thy bosom take the body too. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GOLDEN CORPSE by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE BOOK OF THEL by WILLIAM BLAKE TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL by FRANCIS BRET HARTE THE STEAM-ENGINE: CANTO 10. THE RAILWAY BOOM, 1845 by T. BAKER MARATHON, SELECTION by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES ANYWHERE OUT OF THE WORLD by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE A CHILD'S GRACE AT FLORENCE; A.A.E.C. by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |