TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS





Richard Lovelace





Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind,

That from the nunnery

Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,

To war and arms I fly.



True, a new mistress now I chase,

The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith embrace

A sword, a horse, a shield.



Yet this inconstancy is such,

As you, too, shall adore;

I could not love thee, Dear, so much,

Loved I not Honor more.





TO A WATERFOWL TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Feedback