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The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore

Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes
  

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24

THE RESEMBLANCE.

------ yo cercand' io,
Donna, quant' e possibile, in altrui
La desiata vostra forma vera.
Petrarc. Sonett. 14.

Yes, if 'twere any common love,
That led my pliant heart astray,
I grant, there's not a power above,
Could wipe the faithless crime away.
But, 'twas my doom to err with one
In every look so like to thee
That, underneath yon blessed sun,
So fair there are but thou and she.
Both born of beauty, at a birth,
She held with thine a kindred sway,
And wore the only shape on earth
That could have lured my soul to stray.

25

Then blame me not, if false I be,
'Twas love that wak'd the fond excess;
My heart had been more true to thee,
Had mine eye priz'd thy beauty less.