 | Translations and Poems |  |
To a young Lady,
With a Translation from Voiture.
Such were the tender Lines a Voiture writ,That first-rate Star of Gallantry and Wit!
To matchless Rambouillet he thus address'd,
The grateful Passion that inflam'd his Breast;
Tho' cruel Fate has stop'd the Poet's Breath,
And all her Beauties lie conceal'd in Death!
To equal Merit, equal Praise is due,
He wrote to her—what I translate for you!
| Translations and Poems | |