Even as thou list, Azile, I'll rejoice,
And tremble at thy eyes whene'er they move;
Command thy will, I will obey thy voice,
Unless thou bidst me cease to owe thee love.
There pardon me, dear love, for such a root
It hath obtain'd in my triangle heart,
That since thou first didst thereon place thy foot,
The pain increas'd, and still I feel the smart;
No pain at all, since it from thee ensues,
And, Love, thou may'st command them as my dues.
|
Other Poems of Interest...
|
|
