Fly not so swift, my dear

Fly not so swift, my dear, behold me dying,
If not a smiling glance for all my crying,
Yet kill me with thy frowns.
The Satyrs o'er the lawns full nimbly dancing,
Frisk it apace to view thy beauty's glancing.
See how they coast the downs.
Fain wouldst thou turn and yield them their delight,
But that thou fear'st lest I should steal a sight.

poem by John Wilbye
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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