« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
(No fairer deck'd the Bowers of old Romance) That Sleep enamour'd grew, normov'd from his
sweet trance !
My Sara came, with gentlest look divine;
THE COMPOSITION OF A KISS.
CUPID, if storying Legends tell aright,
While others wish thap rise and fair,
A maid of spotless jame, I'll breathe this more compendious prayer
May'st thou deserve thy name!
That bids the Virtues bie
Confess’d to Fancy's eye;
Content in homespun kirtle ;
White blossom of the myrtle !
Associates of thy name, sweet Child !
These Virtues may'st thou win ;
To say, they lodge within.
Thy Mother shall be miss’d here;
And angels snatch their sister ; Some hoary-headed friend, perchance, May gaze with stifled breath
; And oft, in momentary trance,
Forget the waste of death.
In summer-swelling pride;
Peep'd at the rose's side.
In Autumn's latest hour,
Rich with the self-same flower.
When he had better far have stretched his limbs
ould be too short for him to utter forth
grass and king-cups grow within the paths.