poet

Richard Lovelace

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by this poet

poem
Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind,   
  That from the nunnery   
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind   
  To war and arms I fly.   
  
True, a new mistress now I chase,
  The first foe in the field;   
And with a stronger faith embrace   
  A sword, a horse, a shield.   
  
Yet this inconstancy is such   
  As
poem
When Love with unconfinéd wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair
And fettered to her eye,
The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round,
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses