Opinion on poems in 2 pages 24 hours

I approach, and I withdraw:

I approach, and I withdraw: who but I could find absence in the eyes, presence in what's far?

From the scorn of Phyllis, now, alas, I must depart. One is indeed unhappy who misses even scorn!

So caring is my love that my present distress minds hard-heartedness less than the thought of its loss.

Leaving, I lose more than what is merely mine: in Phyllis, never mine, I lose what can't be lost.

Oh, pity the poor person who aroused such kind disdain that to avoid giving pain, it would grant no favor!

For, seeing in my future obligatory exile, she disdained me the more, that the loss might be less.

Oh, where did you discover so neat a tactic, Phyllis: denying to disdain the garb of affection?

To live unobserved by your eyes, I now go where never pain of mine need flatter your disdain.

Love Opened a Mortal Wound

Love opened a mortal wound. In agony, I worked the blade to make it deeper. Please, I begged, let death come quick.

Wild, distracted, sick, I counted, counted all the ways love hurt me. One life, I thought--a thousand deaths.

Blow after blow, my heart couldn't survive this beating. Then--how can I explain it?

I came to my senses. I said, Why do I suffer? What lover ever had so much pleasure?

My Lady

My lady, I must implore forgiveness for keeping still, if what I meant as tribute ran contrary to your will.

Please do not reproach me if the course I have maintained in the eagerness of my love left my silence unexplained.

I love you with so much passion, neither rudeness nor neglect can explain why I tied my tongue, yet left my heart unchecked.

The matter to me was simple: love for you was so strong, I could see you in my soul and talk to you all day long.

With this idea in mind, I lived in utter delight, pretending my subterfuge found favor in your sight.

In this strange, ingenious fashion, I allowed the hope to be mine that I still might see as human what I really conceived as divine.

Oh, how mad I became in my blissful love of you, for even though feigned, your favor made all my madness seem true!

How unwisely my ardent love, which your glorious sun inflamed, sought to feed upon your brightness, though the risk of your fire was plain!

Forgive me if, thus emboldened, I made bold with that sacred fire: there's no sanctuary secure when thought's transgressions conspire.

Thus it was I kept indulging these foolhardy hopes of mine,

enjoying within myself a happiness sublime.

But now, at your solemn bidding, this silence I herewith suspend, for your summons unlocks in me a respect no time can end.

And, although loving your beauty is a crime beyond repair, rather the crime be chastised than my fervor cease to dare.

With this confession in hand, I pray, be less stern with me. Do not condemn to distress one who fancied bliss so free.

If you blame me for disrespect, remember, you gave me leave; thus, if obedience was wrong, your commanding must be my reprieve.

Let my love be ever doomed if guilty in its intent, for loving you is a crime of which I will never repent.

This much I descry in my feelings-- and more that I cannot explain; but you, from what I've not said, may infer what words won't contain.

Since I'm Condemned

Since I'm condemned to death by your decree, Fabio, and don't appeal, resist or flee the wrathful judgment, hear me, for there's no culprit of such guilt should be refused confession.

Because, you say, you've been informed my breast has caused offence to you, I stand condemned, ferocious one. Does uncertain news, not fact, achieve more in your obdurate breast than experience of so many truths?

If you've believed in others', Fabio, why not believe in your own eyes? Why, reversing the sense of Law, deliver to the rope my neck? You're as liberal with your rigours as meanly strict with favours.

If I have looked at other eyes, Fabio, kill me with your wrathful eyes. If I serve another care, let your implacable anger serve me. And if another's love diverts me, you, who've been my life, strike me dead.

If I have viewed another with delight, never be delight in our mutual looks; if with another I engaged in pleasant speech, let your eternal displeasure point at me. And if another love disturbs my sense, chase out of me my soul, who've been my soul.

But as I die without resisting my unhappy lot, my only wish is you allow me choose the death I like. Let my death be of my choice, for your mere choice continues me in life.

Let me not die of harshness, Fabio, when I can die of love. That will do you credit, redeem me, since to die for love, not for guilt, is no less a death,

but more an honoured one.

And now, finally, I seek your pardon for all the wrongs I did to you through love. Wrongs they are and they deserve your scorn. Your offence is just in my accosting you, because by loving you I turn you to ingratitude.