Feb 2014
Tell me no more how fair she is,
I have no minde to hear
The story of that distant bliss
I never shall come near:
By sad experience I have found
That her perfection is my wound.
And tell me not how fond I am
To tempt a daring Fate,
From whence no triumph ever came,
But to repent too late:
There is some hope ere long I may
In silence dote my self away.
I ask no pity (Love) from thee,
Nor will thy justice blame,
So that thou wilt not envy mee
The glory of my flame:
Which crowns my heart when ere it dyes,
I that it falls her sacrifice.
I have no minde to hear
The story of that distant bliss
I never shall come near:
By sad experience I have found
That her perfection is my wound.
And tell me not how fond I am
To tempt a daring Fate,
From whence no triumph ever came,
But to repent too late:
There is some hope ere long I may
In silence dote my self away.
I ask no pity (Love) from thee,
Nor will thy justice blame,
So that thou wilt not envy mee
The glory of my flame:
Which crowns my heart when ere it dyes,
I that it falls her sacrifice.
Henry King (1592-1669), was educated at Westminster and Christ Church. He even made Bishop of Chichester in 1642. His poems were published in 1657, anonymously and without their author's consent.
Both the poem and biographical info, are found in the collection "The Metaphysical Poets" by Penguin Classics.
Both the poem and biographical info, are found in the collection "The Metaphysical Poets" by Penguin Classics.
