Tixall Poetry.
203
LXXI.
The Power of Beauty.
Keepe on your vaile, and hide each eye,
For with beholding them I die.
Your fatal beauty, Gorgon-like,
Me with astonishment doth strike;
Those piercing eyes, when them I see,
Are worse than basalisks to me.
For with beholding them I die.
Your fatal beauty, Gorgon-like,
Me with astonishment doth strike;
Those piercing eyes, when them I see,
Are worse than basalisks to me.
Hide from my sight those hills of snow,
Such tempting vallies doe not shew,
Those azure paths lead to dispaire,
O tempt me not, forbeare, forbeare:
For whilst I thus in torments dwell,
The sight of heaven is worse than hell.
Such tempting vallies doe not shew,
Those azure paths lead to dispaire,
O tempt me not, forbeare, forbeare:
For whilst I thus in torments dwell,
The sight of heaven is worse than hell.
Your dainty voice, and warbling breath,
Sound like a trumpet past for death;
Sound like a trumpet past for death;
