Poems | ||
On a spark fastening on a Gentlewomans cheek.
If this small spark which bore so thin a blaze,Could in each part so much resentment raise,
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And on your skins unblemisht margent graft
Such signalls of its rigour; oh then deeme
What torments of a far more high esteeme,
My martyr'd heart must struggle with, which fries
In flames of Love, first kindled by your eyes.
Poems | ||