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Sonnet I Dost see how unregarded now That piece of beauty passes? There was a time when I did vow To that alone; But mark the fate of faces; The red and white works now no more on me Than if it could not charm, or I not see. And yet the face continues good, And I have still desires, Am still the selfsame flesh and blood, As apt to melt And suffer from those fires; Oh some kind pow'r unriddle where it lies, Whether my heart be faulty, or her eyes? She ev'ry day her man does kill, And I as often die; Neither her power then, nor my will Can question'd be. What is the mystery? Sure beauty's empires, like to greater states, Have certain periods set, and hidden fates. John Suckling's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1247 |
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