Why I write not of love
- Some act of Love's bound to rehearse,
- I thought to bind him in my verse :
- Which when he felt, Away, quoth he,
- Can poets hope to fetter me ?
- It is enough, they once did get
- Mars and my mother, in their net :
- I wear not these my wings in vain.
- With which he fled me ; and again,
- Into my rhymes could ne'er be got
- By any art: then wonder not,
- That since, my numbers are so cold,
- When Love is fled, and I grow cold.
- --oOo-- -