Transfix me with that flaming dart
Ith' eye, or brest, or any part,
So thou, Castara, spare my heart.
The cold Cymerian by that bright
Warme wound, ith' darknesse of his night,
Might both recover heat, and light.
The rugged Scythian gently move,
Ith' whispering shadow of some grove,
That's consecrate to sportive Love.