« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
In heaven itself thou sure wert drest
And see my joy with closed eyes.
But ah! this image is too kind To be other than a dream!
-iCruel Sacharissa's mind Never put on that sweet extreme.
Fair dream, if thou intend'st me grace,
And make it to appear like mine.
Pale, wan, and meagre let it look,
Of Lethe; or from graves escape.
Then to that matchless nymph appear,
With humble words express my woe.
Perhaps from greatness, state, and pride,
Lome, little infant, love me now,
Clear thine aged father's brow
Pretty, surely, 'twere to see
While our sportings are as free
Common beauties stay fifteen, Such as yours should swifter move,
Whose fair blossoms are too green
Love as much the snowy lamb,
As the lusty bull or ram,
Now then love me, time may take
Of this need we'll virtue make,
So we win of doubtful Fate;
And if good to us she meant, We that good should antedate,
Or if ill, that ill prevent.
Thus as kingdoms frustrating
In the cradle crown their king,
So to make all rivals vain
Now I crown thee with my love;
Crown me with thy love again,
Vtentle air, thou breath of lovers,
Ere yet daring to aspire.
Softest note of whisper'd anguish,
Harmony's refined part, Striking, while thou seem'st to languish,
Full upon the list'ners heart.
Safest messenger of passion, Stealing thro' a cloud of spies,
Shapeless sigh, we ne'er can show thee, Form'd but to assault the ear;Yet ere to their cost they know thee, Every nymph may read thee here.
Ohe loves, and she confesses too;
What's this, ye gods, what can it be?
Noisy nothing, stalking shade,
Sure I shall rid myself of thee
lis now since I sat down before
Made my approaches, from her hand
Unto her lip did rise, And did already understand
The language of her eyes.