The Mistress Poem by Lord John Wilmot

The Mistress

Rating: 4.6


An age in her embraces passed
Would seem a winter's day;
When life and light, with envious haste,
Are torn and snatched away.

But, oh! how slowly minutes roll.
When absent from her eyes
That feed my love, which is my soul,
It languishes and dies.

For then no more a soul but shade
It mournfully does move
And haunts my breast, by absence made
The living tomb of love.

You wiser men despise me not,
Whose love-sick fancy raves
On shades of souls and Heaven knows what;
Short ages live in graves.

Whene'er those woundng eyes, so full
Of sweetness, you did see,
Had you not been profoundly dull,
You had gone mad like me.

Nor censure us, you who perceive
My best beloved and me
Sign and lament, complain and grieve;
You think we disagree.

Alas, 'tis sacred jealousy,
Love raised to an extreme;
The only proof 'twixt her and me,
We love, and do not dream.

Fantastic fancies fondly move
And in frail joys believe,
Taking false pleasure for true love;
But pain can ne'er deceive.

Kind jealous doubts, tormenting fears,
And anxious cares when past,
Prove our heart's treasure fixed and dear,
And make us blessed at last.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
* Sunprincess * 21 January 2016

..........much wisdom in this write ★ Fantastic fancies fondly move And in frail joys believe, Taking false pleasure for true love; But pain can ne'er deceive.

1 0 Reply
Lungelo S Mbuyazi 27 May 2018

Greatlines! Short ages lives in graves... We love, and do not dream

0 0 Reply
Rajnish Manga 27 May 2018

Great lyrical poem of love with transparent sensibilities. Thanks.

0 0 Reply
Kayode Are 27 May 2018

Love is a dream which languishes with absence.

0 0 Reply
Edward Kofi Louis 27 May 2018

That feed my love! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.

0 1 Reply
Bernard F. Asuncion 27 May 2018

Such a great write by Lord John Wilmot👍👍👍

1 0 Reply
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Lord John Wilmot

Lord John Wilmot

Oxfordshire / England
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