Here you will find thePoemA Song To Amoretof poet Henry Vaughan
If I were dead, and, in my place, Some fresher youth designed To warm thee, with new fires; and grace Those arms I left behind: Were he as faithful as the Sun, That's wedded to the Sphere; His blood as chaste and temperate run, As April's mildest tear; Or were he rich; and, with his heap And spacious share of earth, Could make divine affection cheap, And court his golden birth; For all these arts, I'd not believe (No! though he should be thine!), The mighty Amorist could give So rich a heart as mine! Fortune and beauty thou might'st find, And greater men than I; But my true resolved mind They never shall come nigh. For I not for an hour did love, Or for a day desire, But with my soul had from above This endless holy fire.
