A Selection from the Lyrical Poems of Robert Herrick

104. TO DIANEME

     I could but see thee yesterday
     Stung by a fretful bee;
     And I the javelin suck'd away,
     And heal'd the wound in thee.

     A thousand thorns, and briars, and stings
     I have in my poor breast;
     Yet ne'er can see that salve which brings
     My passions any rest.

     As Love shall help me, I admire
     How thou canst sit and smile
     To see me bleed, and not desire
     To staunch the blood the while.

     If thou, composed of gentle mould,
     Art so unkind to me;
     What dismal stories will be told
     Of those that cruel be!