Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PARADOX: THAT FRUITION DESTROYS LOVE, by HENRY KING (1592-1669) Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Love is our reason's paradox, which still Last Line: As warm our hands by putting out the fire. Subject(s): Love - Nature Of; Pygmalion; Troy | ||||||||
LOVE is our Reason's Paradox, which still Against the judgment doth maintain the will: And governs by such arbitrary laws, It only makes the act our liking's cause: We have no brave revenge, but to forgo Our full desires, and starve the tyrant so. They whom the rising blood tempts not to taste, Preserve a stock of love can never waste; When easy people who their wish enjoy, Like prodigals at once their wealth destroy. Adam till now had stay'd in Paradise Had his desires been bounded by his eyes. When he did more than look, that made th' offence, And forfeited his state of innocence. Fruition therefore is the bane t' undo Both our affection and the subject too. 'Tis Love into worse language to translate, And make it into Lust degenerate: 'Tis to dethrone, and thrust it from the heart, To seat it grossly in the sensual part. Seek for the star that's shot upon the ground, And nought but a dim jelly there is found. Thus foul and dark our female stars appear, If fall'n or loss'ned once from Virtue's Sphere. Glow-worms shine only look'd on, and let lie, But handled crawl into deformity: So beauty is no longer fair and bright, Than whilst unstained by the appetite: And then it withers like a blasted flower, Some pois'nous worm or spider hath crept o'er. Pygmalion's dotage on the carved stone, Shows amorists their strong illusion. Whilst he to gaze and court it was content, He serv'd as priest at Beauty's monument: But when by looser fires t' embraces led, It prov'd a cold hard statue in his bed. Irregular affects, like madmen's dreams Presented by false lights and broken beams, So long content us, as no near address Shows the weak sense our painted happiness. But when those pleasing shadows us forsake, Or of the substance we a trial make, Like him, deluded by the fancy's mock, We shipwrack 'gainst an alabaster rock. What though thy mistress far from marble be? Her softness will transform and harden thee. Lust is a snake, and Guilt the Gorgon's head, Which Conscience turns to stone, and Joys to lead. Turtles themselves will blush, if put to name The act, whereby they quench their am'rous flame. Who then that's wise or virtuous, would not fear To catch at pleasures which forbidden were, When those which we count lawful, cannot be Requir'd without some loss of modesty? Ev'n in the marriage-bed, where soft delights Are customary and authoriz'd rites; What are those tributes to the wanton sense, But toleration of Incontinence? For properly you cannot call that Love Which does not from the soul, but humour move. Thus they who worship'd Pan or Isis' Shrine, By the fair front judg'd all within divine: Though ent'ring, found 'twas but a goat or cow To which before their ignorance did bow. Such temples and such goddesses are these Which foolish lovers and admirers please: Who if they chance within the shrine to pry, Find that a beast they thought a Deity. Nor makes it only our opinion less Of what we lik'd before, and now possess; But robs the fuel, and corrupts the spice Which sweetens and inflames Love's sacrifice, After fruition once, what is Desire But ashes kept warm by a dying fire? This is (if any) the Philosopher's Stone Which still miscarries at projection. For when the Heat ad Octo intermits, It poorly takes us like Third Ague fits, Or must on embers as dull drugs infuse, Which we for med'cine not for pleasure use. Since lovers' joys then leave so sick a taste, And soon as relish'd by the sense are past; They are but riddles sure, lost if possest, And therefore only in reversion best. For bate them expectation and delay, You take the most delightful scenes away. These two such rule within the fancy keep, As banquets apprehended in our sleep; After which pleasing trance next morn we wake Empty and angry at the night's mistake. Give me long dreams and visions of content, Rather than pleasures in a minute spent. And since I know before, the shedding rose In that same instant doth her sweetness lose, Upon the virgin-stock still let her dwell For me, to feast my longings with her smell. Those are but counterfeits of joy at best, Which languish soon as brought unto the test. Nor can I hold it worth his pains who tries To in that harvest which by reaping dies. Resolve me now what spirit hath delight, If by full feed you kill the appetite? That stomach healthi'st is, that ne'er was cloy'd, Why not that Love the best then, ne'er enjoy'd? Since nat'rally the blood, when tam'd or sated, Will cool so fast it leaves the object hated. Pleasures, like wonders, quickly lose their price When Reason or Experience makes us wise. To close my argument then. I dare say (And without Paradox) as well we may Enjoy our Love and yet preserve Desire, As warm our hands by putting out the fire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HELEN OF TROY DOES COUNTER DANCING by MARGARET ATWOOD DESTROYING BEAUTY by CHARLES BUKOWSKI WHAT LIGHT DESTROYS by ANDREW HUDGINS A MOTEL IN TROY, NEW YORK by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN A MAN NAMED TROY by REGINALD SHEPHERD LETTER TO GOD FROM ETHAN AMOS BOYD, TROY, NY, 1929 by ANNE STEVENSON A MOMENT IN TROY by WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA HELEN OF TROY by SARA TEASDALE A CONTEMPLATION UPON FLOWERS by HENRY KING (1592-1669) |
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