You must not wonder, though you think it strange, <br />To see me hold my lowering head so low; <br />And that mine eyes take no delight to range <br />About the gleams which on your face do grow. <br />The mouse which once hath broken out of trap <br />Is seldom teased with the trustless bait, <br />But lies aloof for fear of more mishap, <br />And feedeth still in doubt of deep deceit. <br />The scorched fly which once hath 'scap'd the flame <br />Will hardly come to play again with fire. <br />Whereby I learn that grievous is the game <br />Which follows fancy dazzled by desire. <br />So that I wink or else hold down my head, <br />Because your blazing eyes my bale have bred. <br /> <br /> <br /><br />George Gascoigne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/you-must-not-wonder-though-you-think-it-strange/
