Richard Lovelace.



TIS true the beauteous Starre
    To which I first did bow
Burnt quicker, brighter far
    Then that which leads me now ;
        Which shines with more delight :
        For gazing on that light
        So long, neere lost my sight.


Through foule, we follow
    For had the World one face
And Earth been bright as Ayre,
    We had knowne neither place ;
        Indians smell not their Neast :
        A Swisse or Finne tastes best,
        The Spices of the East.


So from the glorious Sunne,
    Who to his height hath got,
With what delight we runne
    To some black Cave, or Grot !
        And Heav'nly Sydney you
        Twice read, had rather view
        Some odde Romance, so new.


The God that constant keepes
    Unto his Dieties,
Is poore in Joyes, and sleepes
    Imprison'd in the skies :
        This knew the wisest, who
        From Juno stole, below
        To love a Beare, or Cow.

Lovelace, Richard.  The Poems of Richard Lovelace.
London: Unit Library, Ltd., 1904.  19.

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