 | Poems |  |
50
To his Mistress who dreamed He was wounded.
Thine
Eyes (bright Saint) disclose
And thou shalt find,
Dreams have not with illusive showes
Deceiv'd thy Mind,
What Sleep presented to thy view,
Awake, and thou shalt finde is true.
And thou shalt find,
Dreams have not with illusive showes
Deceiv'd thy Mind,
What Sleep presented to thy view,
Awake, and thou shalt finde is true.
Those mortall Wounds I bear
From thee begin,
Which though they outward not appear
Yet bleed within,
Loves Flame like active Lightning flies,
Wounding the Heart, but not the Eyes.
From thee begin,
Which though they outward not appear
Yet bleed within,
Loves Flame like active Lightning flies,
Wounding the Heart, but not the Eyes.
But now I yeeld to die
Thy sacrifice,
Nor more in vain will hope to flie
From thy bright Eyes;
Their killing Power cannot be shunn'd
Open or clos'd alike they wound.
Thy sacrifice,
Nor more in vain will hope to flie
From thy bright Eyes;
Their killing Power cannot be shunn'd
Open or clos'd alike they wound.
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