A DIVINE MISTRESS .|
IN Nature's pieces still I see
Some error that might mended be ;
Something my wish could still remove,
Alter or add ; but my fair love
Was framed by hands far more divine,
For she hath every beauteous line.
Yet I had been far happier,
Had Nature, that made me, made her.
Then likeness might (that love creates)
Have made her love what now she hates ;
Yet, I confess, I cannot spare
From her just shape the smallest hair ;
Nor need I beg from all the store
Of heaven for her one beauty more.
She hath too much divinity for me :
You gods, teach her some more humanity.
Vincent, Arthur, ed. The Poems of Thomas Carew.
London: George Routledge & Sons, Ltd., nd. 6.
|| to Works of Thomas Carew|
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