Şiir 7
I, like a miser, only could behold,
And brooded o'er an useless mine of gold;
So Tantalus with fruit untouch'd is curst,
And dies amid the gliding stream of thirst;
So rises early from th' untasted fair,
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The grave old prelate, and kneels down to pray'r,
Were yet her melting kisses misenploy'd?
Did she strive vainly to be well enjoy'd ?
Sure she has beauties might deaf rocks enchant,
Bend the proud oak, and soften adamant;
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She would have mov'd a man tho' almost dead,
But with my manhood the whole life was fled.
If none should lend an ear, why is the song,
Or painted nymphs shown to a blinded throng !
Ye gods ! what joys did not my fancy raise !
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I curl'd in folds of love a thousand ways.
Strong were my thoughts, but ah ! my body lay
Languid as roses pluck'd off yesterday.
Now all the blood the circling spirits fire,
And the lost field impertinent require;
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