 | Poems, Songs and Love-Verses |  |
Eccho to the Painter, out of Ausonius.
Alas! fond Painter, why dost strive to graceAn unknown Goddess with a fancy'd Face?
I am the Daughter of the Tongue, and Wind,
An empty Mother, Voice without a Mind.
I dying sounds fetch back with living tone,
And others mock with Words that are my own.
I in thy Ears my Habitation found,
And if thou mean'st to paint me, paint a Sound.
| Poems, Songs and Love-Verses | |