I. <br />That frantick errour I adore, <br /> And am confirm'd the earth turns round; <br />Now satisfied o're and o're, <br /> As rowling waves, so flowes the ground, <br />And as her neighbour reels the shore: <br /> Finde such a woman says she loves; <br /> She's that fixt heav'n, which never moves. <br /> <br /> II. <br />In marble, steele, or porphyrie, <br /> Who carves or stampes his armes or face, <br />Lookes it by rust or storme must dye: <br /> This womans love no time can raze, <br />Hardned like ice in the sun's eye, <br /> Or your reflection in a glasse, <br /> Which keepes possession, though you passe. <br /> <br /> III. <br />We not behold a watches hand <br /> To stir, nor plants or flowers to grow; <br />Must we infer that this doth stand, <br /> And therefore, that those do not blow? <br />This she acts calmer, like Heav'ns brand, <br /> The stedfast lightning, slow loves dart, <br /> She kils, but ere we feele the smart. <br /> <br /> IV. <br />Oh, she is constant as the winde, <br /> That revels in an ev'nings aire! <br />Certaine as wayes unto the blinde, <br /> More reall then her flatt'ries are; <br />Gentle as chaines that honour binde, <br /> More faithfull then an Hebrew Jew, <br /> But as the divel not halfe so true.<br /><br />Richard Lovelace<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-apostacy-of-one-and-but-one-lady/
