TO MY MISTRESS, I BURNING IN LOVE.
I BURN ; and cruel you, in vain
Hope to quench me with disdain ;
If from your eyes those sparkles came
That have kindled all this flame,
What boots it me, though now you shroud
Those fierce comets in a cloud ?
Since all the flames that I have felt
Could your snow yet never melt ;
Nor can your snow, though you should take
Alps into your bosom, slake
The heat of my enamour'd heart.
But, with wonder, learn Love's art :
No seas of ice can cool desire,
Equal flames must quench Love's fire.
Then, think not that my heat can die,
Till you burn as well as I.
Vincent, Arthur, ed. The Poems of Thomas Carew.
London: George Routledge & Sons, Ltd., nd. 46.
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