O love, stay yet a while and me deceive:
For all that I would hear your voice speak true
I am undone. When you do lie the palace you conceive
Has spires above the heights that fancy knew;
By your tongue all the world is made to dance:
The same world which was barren, ere you lied,
Ere your voice graced my searching ears by chance
And in your throat a thousand petty truths had died.
O do not leave me. Speak me fair in all but this
Unless your heart be twisted so, confession is a game
You would disdain to play – hope of you I should dismiss,
Yet cannot, and myself delude, my honour tame:
Though I would never wish you false to me
Our loves were made in lies, so must our ends be.
i am always a bit in awe of poets. i feel its next level writing.
bloody hell. That's writing!