Verse > John Dryden > Poems
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John Dryden (1631–1700).  The Poems of John Dryden.  1913.
 
Songs from the Plays
“Blind Love, to this hour,” from Sir Martin Marr-All (after Voiture)
 
      BLIND Love, to this hour,
Had never like me, a Slave under his Pow’r.
  Then blest be the Dart
  That he threw at my heart,
      For nothing can prove        5
A joy so great as to be wounded with love.
 
      My Days and my Nights
Are fill’d to the purpose with sorrows and frights;
  From my heart still I sigh,
  And my Eyes are ne’r dry,        10
    So that, Cupid be prais’d.
I am to the top of Love’s happiness rais’d.
 
      My Soul’s all on fire
So that I have the pleasure to dote and desire,
  Such a pretty soft pain,        15
  That it tickles each vein,
      ’Tis the dream of a smart,
Which makes me breathe short when it beats at my heart.
 
      Sometimes in a Pet,
When I am despis’d, I my freedom would get;        20
  But straight a sweet smile
  Does my anger beguile,
      And my heart does recall,
Then the more I do struggle the lower I fall.
 
      Heaven does not impart        25
Such a grace as to love unto ev’ry one’s heart;
  For many may wish
  To be wounded, and miss.
      Then blest be loves Fire,
And more blest her Eyes that first taught me desire.        30
 
 
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