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 />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 />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/the-charm-2/
