To Lucasta, Going to the Wars

Richard Lovelace (1618-1657)

TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind,
  That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
  To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,
  The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
  A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
  As thou too shalt adore;
I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
  Loved I not Honour more.



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The reading of the poem reminded me of this excellent story about Richard Burton as told by Dick Cavett in the New York Times.  Not that this reader's voice is as hypnotic as Mr. Burton's, but that there is something about a deep, crisp, and clear British accent that makes me swoon, almost, no matter what it is saying.

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