 | Poems |  |
3
The Walke.
Blest Walke, that with your leavy armes imbraceIn small, what beauty the dilated face
Of the whole World containes! The Violet,
Bowing its humble head down at her feet,
Payes homage for the livery of her vaines:
Roses and Lillies, and what beautuous staines
Nature adornes the Sping with, are but all
Faint Copies of this fair Originall.
She is a moving Paradise, doth view
Your greens, not to refresh her selfe, but you.
This path's th'Ecliptick, heat prolifick hence
Is shed on you by her kind influence;
She is (alasse) too like the Sun, who grants
That warmth to all, which in himselfe he wants.
You thus oblig'd, this benefit return,
Teach her by Lectures visible to burn;
That She, when Zephyre moves each whispring bough
To kisse his neighbour, thence may learn t'allow
The reall seals of kindnesse, and be taught
By twining Woodbines what sweet joyes are caught
In such imbraces: Thus and thousand wayes
Told you by amorous Fairies, and the layes
Of your fond Guardian, waken her desires,
Requiting your own warmth with equall fires.
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