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Owain Phyfe

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Owain Phyfe

My Fate

Go bid the needle his dear north forsake,
To which with trembling reverence, it doth bend;
Go bid the stones a journey upwards make;
Go bid the ambitious flames no more to ascend.
And, when these false to their own motions prove,
Then shall I cease thee, thee alone to love.

You, who men's fortunes in their faces read;
To find out mine, look not, alas, on me;
But mark her face and all the features heed,
For only there is writ my destiny.
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Or, if stars show it, gaze not on the skies,
But study the astrology, the astrology of her eyes.

If thou find there kind and propitious rays,
What Mars and Saturn threaten, I'll not fear.
Per chance the fate of mortal days
Is writ in heaven, but O, my heaven is here.
What can men learn from stars they scarce can see?
Two great lights rule the world; and her two, me.