Life, that dares send
A challenge to his end,
And when it comes, say, Welcome, friend!
Sydneian showers
Of sweet discourse, whose powers
Can crown old winter’s head with flowers.
Whate’er delight
Can make day’s forehead bright,
Or give down to the wings of night.
In her whole frame,
Have Nature all the name,
Art and ornament the shame.
Her flattery,
Picture and poesy,
Her counsel her own virtue be.
I wish her store
Of worth may leave her poor
Of wishes; and I wish—no more.
Now, if Time knows
That Her, whose radiant brows
Weave them a garland of my vows;
Her whose just bays
My future hopes can raise,
A trophy to her present praise;
Her that dares he
What these lines wish to see;
I seek no further, it is She.
’Tis She, and here,
Lo! I unclothe and clear
My wishes’ cloudy character.