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Can make Day's forehead bright;
Or give down to the wings of Night!
In her whole frame,
Have Nature all the name;
Art and Ornament, the shame!
Picture and Poesy!
Her counsel, her own virtue be!
I wish her store
Of worth may leave her poor
Now, if Time knows
That Her, whose radiant brows
Weave them a garland of my vows;
Her, whose just bays
My future hopes can raise
A trophy to her present praise;
Her, that dares be
What these Lines wish to see:
I seek no further! It is She!
'Tis She! and here,
Lo, I unclothe, and clear,
May she enjoy it,
Whose merit dares apply it;
But modesty dares still deny it!
Such worth as this is
Shall fix my flying Wishes;
And determine them to kisses!
Let her full glory,
My Fancies, fly before ye!
Be ye my fictions; but her story!
OUT OF THE ITALIAN.
To thy Lover,
That sweet Blush of thine! that shameth (When those roses
The air does woo thee!
Winds cling to thee!
Might a word once fly from out thee,
Would sit under;
And keep silence round about thee!
But if Nature's
So dear glories dare not borrow;
Owes a duty
To my loving, ling'ring sorrow!
When, to end me,
Death shall send me
All his terrors, to affright me:
Gild their faces;
And those terrors shall delight me!
When my dying
Life is flying,
Those sweet Airs, that often slew me, Shall revive me;
Or reprive me,
And to many deaths renew me!
UPON A YOUNG MARRIED COUPLE
To these, whom Death again did wed;
It could not sunder Man and Wife!
In the last knot Love could tie!
And though they lie as they were dead
Till this stormy night be gone;
Then, the curtains will be drawn!
Whose Day shall never die in Night!