Lines In Imitation Of Cowley.
18th Century Hannah Cowley EnglishLINES IN IMITATION OF COWLEY.
TOUCH'D by thy wit, my soul's on fire, My bosom throbs with young desire. What! though thy form I never saw, Is there to man divulg'd a law That only what he sees must touch his heart?
The vulgar rule I disallow, And in my passion feel e'en now, That wit, like beauty, gives the tender smart.
Methinks thy form I would not know, Nor to thy face the pleasure owe Of these delicious melting pains, Which when a mortal once attains, He knows the greatest bliss for man design'd.
No, to my fancy I'll apply, There find thy form, thy air, thy eye, And feast my frenzy with a zest refin'd.
When in a pensive mood I sit, And Melancholy takes her fit, Mild, tender, soft, thou shalt appear, Like the first blossoms of the year: But when in brisker tides my spirits run,
L'Allegro shall the pencil take, Describe thy look, thy step, thy make, And shew thee lively as bright MAIA's son.