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Sapho to Philænis. |
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Where is that holy fire, which Verse is said |
To have, is that inchanting force decai'd? |
Verse that drawes Natures workes, from Natures law, |
Thee, her best worke, to her worke cannot draw. |
Have my teares quench'd my old Poetique fire; |
Why quench'd they not as well, that of desire? |
Thoughts, my mindes creatures, often are with thee, |
But I, their maker; want their libertie. |
Onely thine image, in my heart, doth sit, |
But that is waxe, and fires environ it. |
My fires have driven, thine have drawne it hence; |
And I am rob'd of Picture, Heart, and Sense. |
Dwells with me still mine irksome Memory, |
Which, both to keepe, and lose, grieves equally. |
That tells me'how faire thou art: Thou art so faire, |
As, gods, when gods to thee I doe compare, |
Are grac'd thereby; And to make blinde men see, |
What things gods are, I say they'are like to thee. |
For, if we justly call each silly man |
A litle world, What shall we call thee than? |
Thou art not soft, and cleare, and strait, and faire, |
As Down,, as Stars, Cedars, and Lillies are, |
But thy right hand, and cheek, and eye, only |
Are like thy other hand, and cheek, and eye. |
Such was my Phao awhile, but shall be never, |
As thou, wast, art, and, oh, maist be ever. |
Here lovers sweare in their Idolatrie,
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[CW: That] |