Joshua Sylvester (1563 - 1618 / England)
To His Coy Love
I pray thee, leave, love me no more,
Call home the heart you gave me!
I but in vain that saint adore
Tat can but will not save me.
These poor half-kisses kill me quite
Was ever man thus served?
Amidst an ocean of delight
For pleasure to be starved?
Show me no more those snowy breasts
With azure riveters branched,
Where, whilst mine eye with plenty feasts,
Yet is my thirst not stanched;
O Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell!
By me thou art prevented:
'Tis nothing to be plagued in Hell,
But thus in Heaven tormented.
Clip me no more in those dear arms,
Nor thy life's comfort call me,
O these are but too powerful charms,
And do but more enthral me!
But see how patient I am grown
In all this coil about thee:
Come, nice thing, let thy heart alone,
I cannot live without thee!
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.