Love, like a gipsy, lately came,
And did me much importune
To see my hand, that by the same
He might foretell my fortune.
He saw my palm; and then, said he,
I tell thee, by this score here,
That thou, within few months, shalt be
The youthful Prince D'Amour here.
I smiled, and bade him once more prove,
And by some cross-line show it,
That I could ne'er be Prince of Love,
Though here the Princely Poet.
Upon Cupid
Robert Herrick
(1)
Poem topics: score, prove, poet, fortune, love, I love you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation