The nymph in vain bestows her pains
That seeks to thrive where Bacchus reigns;
In vain are charms, or smiles, or frowns,
All images his torrent drowns.

Flames to the head he may impart,
But makes an island of the heart,
So inaccessible and cold,
That to be his is to be old.

(C) Anne Kingsmill Finch
03/05/2017


Best Poems of Anne Kingsmill Finch

• The Change
• Hope
• Fragment At Tunbridge-wells
• Love, Death, And Reputation
• An Invitation To Dafnis
• On The Death Of The Honourable Mr. James Thynne
• A Suplication For The Joys Of Heaven
• To Edward Jenkinson, Esq
• Fanscomb Barn
• To The Painter Of An Ill-drawn Picture Of Cleone
• From The First Act Of The Aminta Of Tasso
• The Appology
• The Hog, The Sheep, And Goat, Carrying To A Fair
• To Mr. F. Now Earl Of W
• The Equipage
• The Atheist And The Acorn
• An Epistle From A Gentleman To Madam Deshouliers
• The Introduction