XXII.
As, love, the lily and purpureal rose
Show their sweet colours on thy chaste warm cheek,
Thy radiant looks, angelically meek,
Serene the tempest to divine repose,
And as thy hair, which for its birthright chose
The opal's dye, upon the whitest neck
Waved by the winds of heaven without a check,
In exquisite disorder falls and flows;
Gather the rich fruit of thy mirthful spring,
Ere angry Time around thy temples shed
The snows of hasting age; his icy wing
Will wither the fresh rose, however red;
And changing not his custom, quickly change
The glory of all objects in his range.
XXIII.
Prostrate on earth the lofty column lies,
That late sustained my life; oh how much joy,
How many hopes did one dark day destroy!
And on the wind each blest idea flies.
How sure to fail is Fancy, when she tries
To build aught durable for me! fresh woes
Come with the force of persecuting foes,
And like abandoned things my hopes chastise:
Oft times I yield, yet oft my tyrants face,
With a new fury that might break in twain
A mountain placed to bar my way—impell'd
By the desire some day to turn again—
Turn to behold her loveliness and grace,
Whom it were better ne'er to have beheld.