If she did frown, one dash could make her smile,
All bickerings one easy stroke could reconcile,
Plato feign'd no idea so divine:
Thus did I quiet many a froward day,
While in my eyes my soul did play,
Thus did the time, and thus myself beguile;
70Till on a day, but then I knew not why,
A tear fall'n from my eye,
Wash'd out my saint, my shrine, my deity: