| 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. | |
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| 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. | |
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| 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. | |
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| 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. | |
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| 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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