Poem by Thomas Carew

Murdering Beauty

I'LL gaze no more on her bewitching face,
Since ruin harbours there in every place;
For my enchanted soul alike she drowns
With calms and tempests of her smiles and frowns.
I’ll love no more those cruel eyes of hers,
Which, pleased or anger’d, still are murderers:
For if she dart, like lightning, through the air
Her beams of wrath, she kills me with despair:
If she behold me with a pleasing eye,
I surfeit with excess of joy, and die. 

1. Epitaph for Maria Wentworth
2. Celia Beeding, To The Surgeon
3. Another
4. Secrecy Protested
5. The Primrose

Print

1266 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version