 | Poems |  |
52
Unaltred by Sicknesse.
Sicknesse, in vain thou dost invadeA Beauty that can never fade.
Could all thy Malice but impair
One of the sweets which crown this fair,
Or steal the spirits from her Eye,
Or kisse into a paler dye.
The blushing Roses of her Cheek,
Our drooping hopes might justly seek,
Redress from thee, and thou mightst save
Thousands of Lovers from the Grave:
But such assaults are vain, for she
Is too divine to stoop to thee;
Blest with a Form as much too high
For any Change, as Destiny;
Which no attempt can violate;
For what's her Beauty, is our Fate.
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