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Poems

By Thomas Philipott

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On Julia, throwing snow-balls at him.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

On Julia, throwing snow-balls at him.

VVhilst Iulia did her snow-balls at me hit,
She did into my bosome too transmit
A sudden flame; 'tis strange that heat should flow
From such a frostie principle, as snow:

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Sure those successive glances which did rise
From the bright Orbs of her refulgent eyes,
Made some impression on those balls, and so
Subverted the cold property of snow:
Yet as that flame which in my heart did reigne
And darted fire from thence on every veine,
Was caus'd by snow, so when I did but rest
My hand upon the Alps of her white brest,
The snow that lay dispers'd o're that chast seat,
Straight curb'd the uproare of my former heat.
Strange miracle, my Iulia has the art
At once with snow to heat and coole my heart.