Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air, <br /> Thrice sit thou mute in this enchanted chair, <br /> Then thrice three times tie up this true love's knot, <br /> And murmur soft 'She will, or she will not.' <br /> <br /> Go burn these pois'nous weeds in yon blue fire, <br /> These screech-owl's feathers and this prickling briar, <br /> This cypress gathered at a dead man's grave, <br /> That all my fears and cares an end may have. <br /> <br /> Then come, you fairies! dance with me a round; <br /> Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound. <br /> In vain are all the charms I can devise: <br /> She hath an art to break them with her eyes.<br /><br />Thomas Campion<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thrice-toss-these-oaken-ashes/
