Can heart Thy love picture, and smiles, e’en in part?
The heart that’s a slave to a love or a smile
Can never be worthy to see Thee awhile.
Engrossed he that’s now with pleasure and pain,
Can he, by these accidents, live o’er again?
Green pastures of love, in their infinitude,
More fruits yield than care, and than beatitude.250
Love’s far above these evanescent two states;
Without spring and autumn, its verdant estates.
Pay beauty’s high toll, Beauty, on Thy sweet face;