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Song.

Richard Lovelace 1618 – 1657

I.
In mine one monument I lye,
  And in my self am buried;
Sure, the quick lightning of her eye
  Melted my soul ith' scabberd dead;
And now like some pale ghost I walk,
And with another's spirit talk.

  II.
Nor can her beams a heat convey,
  That may my frozen bosome warm,
Unless her smiles have pow'r, as they,
  That a cross charm can countercharm.
But this is such a pleasing pain,
I'm loth to be alive again.

  ANOTHER.

I did believe I was in heav'n,
When first the heav'n her self was giv'n,
That in my heart her beams did passe
As some the sun keep in a glasse,
So that her beauties thorow me
Did hurt my rival-enemy.
But fate, alas! decreed it so,
That I was engine to my woe:
For, as a corner'd christal spot,
My heart diaphanous was not;
But solid stuffe, where her eye flings
Quick fire upon the catching strings:
Yet, as at triumphs in the night,
You see the Prince's Arms in light,
So, when I once was set on flame,
I burnt all ore the letters of her name.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

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Richard Lovelace

Richard Lovelace was an English poet more…

All Richard Lovelace poems | Richard Lovelace Books

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