Stay as you are and be loved for ever!
Bud, if I kiss you, ’tis that you blow not:
Mind, the shut pink mouth opens never!
For while it pouts, her fingers wrestle
Twinkling the audacious leaves between,
Till round they turn and down they nestle—
Is not the dear mark still to be seen?
VI
Where I find her not, beauties vanish;
Whither I follow her, beauties flee;