I could but see thee yesterday <br />Stung by a fretful bee; <br />And I the javelin suck'd away, <br />And heal'd the wound in thee. <br /> <br />A thousand thorns, and briars, and stings <br />I have in my poor breast; <br />Yet ne'er can see that salve which brings <br />My passions any rest. <br /> <br />As Love shall help me, I admire <br />How thou canst sit and smile <br />To see me bleed, and not desire <br />To staunch the blood the while. <br /> <br />If thou, composed of gentle mould, <br />Art so unkind to me; <br />What dismal stories will be told <br />Of those that cruel be!<br /><br />Robert Herrick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-dianeme/
