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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.
Ill love no more those cruel eyes of hers,
Which, pleased or angerd, 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. 



Thomas Carew


Thomas Carew's other poems:
  1. Secrecy Protested
  2. Celia Beeding, To The Surgeon
  3. Epitaph for Maria Wentworth
  4. I Do Not Love Thee For That Fair
  5. A Divine Mistress


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