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It patiently lets her pail fill:
And the birds' strains, 'tis hard to say,
Thus ravished, as the night draws on
To my poor cell; which, 'cause 'tis mine,
By care and love, what I must owe.
TO HIS (SUPPosed) mistress.
WHOE'ER She be!
That not impossible She
That shall command my heart and me;
Where'er She lie,
Locked up from mortal eye,
In shady leaves of Destiny;
Till that ripe birth
Of studied Fate stand forth,
And teach her fair steps to our earth;
Till that divine
Idæa take a shrine
Of crystal flesh, through which to shine:
Meet you her, my Wishes!
Bespeak her to my blisses!
And be ye called, My absent kisses!
I wish her Beauty,
That owes not all his duty
To gaudy 'tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie!
Something more than
Taffeta, or tissue, can;
Or rampant feather, or rich fan!
More than the spoil
Of shop, or silkworm's toil!
Or a bought blush! or a set smile!
A Face, that's best
By its own beauty drest;
And can, alone, command the rest!
A Face, made up
Out of no other shop
Than what Nature's white hand sets ope!
A Cheek, where Youth
And Blood, with pen of Truth,
Write what the Reader sweetly ru'th!
A Cheek, where grows
More than a morning rose!
Which to no box, his being owes.
Lips, where all day
A Lover's kiss may play;
Yet carry nothing thence away!
Looks, that oppress
Their richest tires; but dress
And clothe their simplest nakedness!
Eyes, that displace
The neighbour diamond; and outface That sunshine, by their own sweet grace!
Tresses, that wear
Jewels but to declare
How much themselves more precious are;
Whose native ray
Can tame the wanton day
Of gems, that in their bright shades play!
Each ruby there,
Or pearl, that dare appear,
Be its own blush! be its own tear!
A well-tamed Heart,
For whose more noble smart,
LOVE may be long choosing a dart!
Eyes, that bestow
Full quivers on Love's bow;
Yet pay less arrows, than they owe [own]
Smiles, that can warm
The blood; yet teach a charm,
Blushes, that bin
The burnish of no sin;
Nor flames of aught too hot within!
Joys, that confess
Virtue their mistress;
And have no other head to dress! ..
Days, that need borrow
No part of their 'Good morrow!'
Life, that dares send
A challenge to his end;
And, when it comes, say, 'Welcome, friend!'
Of sweet Discourse; whose powers
Can crown old Winter's head with flowers!
Soft, silken hours!
Open suns! shady bowers!
'Bove all, nothing within that lowers!