O how the pleasant airs of true love be Infected by those vapours which arise From out that noisome gulf, which gaping lies Between the jaws of hellish jealousy: A monster, others' harm, self-misery, Beauty's plague, virtue's scourge, succour of lies; Who his own joy to his own hurt applies, And only cherish doth with injury; Who, since he hath, by nature's special grace, So piercing paws, as spoil when they embrace; So nimble feet, as stir still, though on thorns; So many eyes, aye seeking their own woe; So ample ears, as never good news know: Is it not ill that such a devil wants horns? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARAGRAPHS: 9 by HAYDEN CARRUTH COLOGNE; EPIGRAM by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE MY LITTLE DREAMS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE BIGLOW PAPERS. 2D SERIES: 2. JONATHAN TO JOHN by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL |