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Alexander Brome (Александр Бром)

To his Mistress affrighted in the wars


COme sigh no more, but kiss again,
These troubles shall never trouble me;
Your sighs are but wind, and your sorrows vain;
They'l never the sooner for us agree.
Let Canons keep roaring
And bullets still fly,
While I am adoring
Thee, my deity.
Hang this wealth! let money flee,
They cannot undo me, while I have thee.


I'll be thy Champion to defend
Thy person from all these dangers and harms;
No Army's so sure as a real friend,
Nor Castle defends like a lovers arms.
But if I can't daunt 'um,
By valour and might,
Your face shall enchant 'um,
For beauty can fight.
There's no armour can men free
From the naked pow'r of such beauties as thee.


I Venus serve, a fig for Mars,
Loves arrows may wound, but neuer kill me;
Me thinks there's no pleasure in bloudy wars,
But I long to be wounded and taken by thee?
When our bullets are kisses,
And our field is a bed,
And the top of our bliss is
A pure maidenhead.
Both will strive to lose the day,
And both shall be conquer'd, yet not run away.

Alexander Brome's other poems:
  1. The Cavalier
  2. The Prodigal
  3. The Reformation
  4. The Hard Heart
  5. The Libertine

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