Thomas Carew (1594 - 1640 / London / England)
Celia Beeding, To the Surgeon
Fond man, that canst believe her blood
Will from those purple channels flow;
Or that the pure untainted flood
Can any foul distemper know;
Or that thy weak steel can incise
The crystal case wherein it lies:
Know, her quick blood, proud of his seat,
Runs dancing through her azure veins;
Whose harmony no cold nor heat
Disturbs, whose hue no tincture stains:
And the hard rock wherein it dwells
The keenest darts of love repels.
But thou repli'st, "behold, she bleeds!"
Fool! thou 'rt deceiv'd, and dost not know
The mystic knot whence this proceeds,
How lovers in each other grow:
Thou struck'st her arm, but 'twas my heart
Shed all the blood, felt all the smart.
Poet Other Poems
- A Cruel Mistress.
- A Divine Mistress
- A Song
- A Song: When June is Past, the Fading Ro...
- Ask Me No More
- Boldness in Love
- Celia Beeding, To the Surgeon
- Disdain Returned
- Epitaph for Maria Wentworth
- Epitaph On the Lady Mary Villiers
- Epitaph On The Late Mary Villiers
- He That Loves A Rosy Cheek
- I Do Not Love Thee For That Fair
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (I Do Not Love Thee For That Fair by Thomas Carew )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley