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54

VI. SONNET. On LAURA's illness.

Spirits of death, your fatal rage forbear!
Shall beauty's orient beam with ruthless pain
For ever veil'd, in dim eclipse remain,
In dim eclipse of health-consuming care?
Disperse, ye dreary phantoms! hear my prayer!
Propitious hear a weeping wretch complain,
And, moved to pity by his pensive strain,
Life's tender flower from withering tempests spare!
They hear, my love—they heed the fond request.
Thy smiles revive to chase the gloom of night!
Smiles that alone can lull my fears to rest,
Smiles that unfading shine, divinely bright,
Whether in sickly pale thy cheek be drest,
Or health's warm roses blush delicious light!