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Thalia Rediviva

The Pass-times and Diversions of a Countrey-muse, In Choice Poems on several Occasions. With Some Learned Remains of the Eminent Eugenius Philalethes. Never made Publick till now [by Henry Vaughan]

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 1. 
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To Etesia (for Timander,) the first Sight.
  
  
  
  
  
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To Etesia (for Timander,) the first Sight.

What smiling Star in that fair Night,
Which gave you Birth gave me this Sight.
And with a kind Aspect tho keen
Made me the Subject: you the Queen?
That sparkling Planet is got now
Into your Eyes, and shines below;
Where nearer force, and more acute
It doth dispence, without dispute,
For I who yesterday did know
Loves fire no more, than doth cool Snow
with one bright look am since undone;
Yet must adore and seek my Sun.
Before I walk'd free as the wind,
And if but stay'd (like it,) unkind.
I could like daring Eagles gaze
And not be blinded by a face;
For what I saw, till I saw thee,
Was only not deformity.
Such shapes appear (compar'd with thine,)
In Arras, or a tavern-sign,
And do but mind me to explore
A fairer piece, that is in store.

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So some hang Ivy to their Wine,
To signify, there is a Vine.
Those princely Flow'rs (by no storms vex'd,)
Which smile one day, and droop the next:
The gallant Tulip and the Rose,
Emblems which some use to disclose
Bodyed Idea's: their weak grace
Is meer imposture to thy face.
For nature in all things, but thee,
Did practise only Sophistry;
Or else she made them to express
How she could vary in her dress:
But thou wert form'd, that we might see
Perfection, not Variety.
Have you observ'd how the Day-star
Sparkles and smiles and shines from far:
Then to the gazer doth convey
A silent, but a piercing Ray?
So wounds my love, but that her Eys
Are in Effects, the better Skys.
A brisk bright Agent from them Streams
Arm'd with no arrows, but their beams,
And with such stillness smites our hearts,
No noise betrays him, nor his darts.
He working on my easie Soul
Did soon persuade, and then controul;
And now he flyes (and I conspire)
Through all my blood with wings of fire,
And when I would (which will be never)
With cold despair allay the fever:
The spiteful thing Etesia names,
And that new-fuells all my flames.