 | Carolina |  |
24
The RECOVERY.
1657.
To my dear S. Mrs. S. S.
So you recruit, tell me no more
Of lesser beauty than before;
Yet where's the loss? since still I'spy
Those Arched Brows, that sparkling Eye,
Wherein such contradictions fix,
That Sun and Clouds together mix.
Though neither conquer, yet both fight;
No Cloud so black, no Sun so bright.
A Sun with no Eclipses harm'd:
A Cloud with Lightning ever arm'd:
Then is not here each charming grace
That formerly shin'd in that Face?
Those modest smiles, whose native slight
At once denies, yet does invite?
Like a Gilt-harnest-valiant Foe,
Whose Arms cry, Take me, Sword says no.
What Parts then do these wants disclose?
Because each Cheek has lost its Rose,
Your Lips their Cherries? never fear;
Tho' th' Season's past, they'l spring next year.
Your Sickness did this Autumn bring;
But Health will soon create a Spring.
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