English Poetry. Francis Beaumont. A Sonnet. Фрэнсис Бомонт.

Francis Beaumont (Фрэнсис Бомонт)

A Sonnet

Flattering Hope, away and leave me,
She'll not come, thou dost deceive me;
Hark the cock crows, th' envious light
Chides away the silent night;
Yet she comes not, oh ! how I tire
Betwixt cold fear and hot desire.

Here alone enforced to tarry
While the tedious minutes marry,
And get hours, those days and years,
Which I count with sighs and fears
Yet she comes not, oh! how I tire
Betwixt cold fear and hot desire.

Restless thoughts a while remove
Unto the bosom of my love,
Let her languish in my pain,
Fear and hope, and fear again;
Then let her tell me, in love's fire,
What torment's like unto desire?

Endless wishing, tedious longing,
Hopes and fears together thronging;
Rich in dreams, yet poor in waking,
Let her be in such a taking:
Then let her tell me in love's fire,
What torment's like unto desire?

Come then, Love, prevent day's eyeing,
My desire would fain be dying:
Smother me with breathless kisses,
Let me dream no more of blisses;
But tell me, which is in Love's fire
Best, to enjoy, or to desire?

Francis Beaumont’s other poems:

Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

Oliver Goldsmith (Оливер Голдсмит) A Sonnet (“WEEPING, murmuring, complaining”)

Charles Sorley (Чарльз Сорли) A Sonnet (“When You See Millions of the Mouthless Dead”)

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