Tell Me No More

Tell me no more how fair she is,
I have no minde to hear
The story of that distant bliss
I never shall come near:
By sad experience I have found
That her perfection is my wound.
And tell me not how fond I am
To tempt a daring Fate,
From whence no triumph ever came,
But to repent too late:
There is some hope ere long I may
In silence dote my self away.
I ask no pity (Love) from thee,
Nor will thy justice blame,
So that thou wilt not envy mee
The glory of my flame:
Which crowns my heart when ere it dyes,
In that it falls her sacrifice.

Collection: 
Love
1612
Henry King

More from Poet

  • Sic Vita

    LIKE 1 to the falling of a star, Or as the flights of eagles are, Or like the fresh spring’s gaudy hue, Or silver drops of morning dew, Or like a wind that chafes the flood, Or bubbles which on water stood,— E’en such is man, whose borrowed light Is straight called in, and paid to-night. The...

  • Tell Me No More

    Tell me no more how fair she is,
    I have no minde to hear
    The story of that distant bliss
    I never shall come near:
    By sad experience I have found
    That her perfection is my wound.
    And tell me not how fond I am
    To tempt a daring Fate,
    From whence no...