 | Poems (1872) |  |
[I.]
[Oh madam, you [only], of all women true]
Oh madam, you [only], of all women true,Nay, Virtue's selfe, that's more, for only you
Are that wch we imagine to be shee;
You, and but you, make virtue here to bee.
You, who by binding makes us truly free,
Whose only bondman lives in libertie.
You, in wch happie word all things are ment
Excepting wickedness and punishment.
You, that are you, wch I love more than I,
In whome my soule can rest, yett I not dye;
Nay, lives, by beeing those, for that's his place,
I, but a cabinet that keepes your face
Or model in my hart, for all that's I
May in your picture live, in you must dye.
| Poems (1872) | |