| Matthew Prior. Poems on Several Occasions | ||
18
An ODE.
[While from our Looks, fair Nymph, You guess]
I
While from our Looks, fair Nymph, You guessThe secret Passions of our Mind;
My heavy Eyes, You say, confess
A Heart to Love and Grief inclin'd.
II
There needs, alas! but little Art,To have this fatal Secret found:
With the same Ease You threw the Dart,
'Tis certain, You may show the Wound.
III
How can I see You, and not love;While You as op'ning East are fair?
While cold as Northern Blasts You prove;
How can I love, and not despair?
IV
The Wretch in double Fetters boundYour Potent Mercy may release:
Soon, if my Love but once were crown'd,
Fair Prophetess, my Grief would cease.
| Matthew Prior. Poems on Several Occasions | ||