FROM
I d e a.
by Michael Drayton
LXIX.
DIE, die, my soul, and never taste of joy,
If sighs nor tears nor vows nor prayers can move,
If faith and zeal be but esteemed a toy,
And kindness be unkindness in my love.
Then with unkindness, Love, revenge thy wrong,
O sweet'st revenge that e'er the heavens gave !
And with the swan record thy dying song,
And praise her still to thy untimely grave.
So in love's death shall love's perfection prove,
That love divine which I have borne to you,
By doom concealèd to heavens above,
That yet the world unworthy never knew,
Whose pure idea never tongue exprest :
I feel, you know, the heavens can tell, the rest.
|
Michael Drayton
