With human love, and mourn thy blessedness.
O! ye strange powers! with what excelling truth
Has Art’s small hand here mimic’d mightiest Nature!
What cheeks are these! could Death e’er crop such roses?
Eyes! star-bright twins! fair glasses to fair thoughts,
Where, as by truest oracles confest,
The godlike soul reveals itself in glory.
Your glances thrill me! amber-twinkling threads!
Half bound by grace, half loos’d by winds, how strays
This shining ringlet o’er this clear white breast!