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Thomas Carew - Celia Bleeding, To the Surgeon
Work rating: Low

Fond man, that canst believe her blood
    Will from those purple channels flow;
Or that the pure untainted flood
    Can any foul distemper know;
Or that thy weak steel can incise
The crystal case wherein it lies:

Know, her quick blood, proud of his seat,
    Runs dancing through her azure veins;
Whose harmony no cold nor heat
    Disturbs, whose hue no tincture stains:
And the hard rock wherein it dwells
The keenest darts of love repels.

But thou repli`st, "behold, she bleeds!"
    Fool! thou `rt deceiv`d, and dost not know
The mystic knot whence this proceeds,
    How lovers in each other grow:
Thou struck`st her arm, but `twas my heart
Shed all the blood, felt all the smart.
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