Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/540

402 THE POEMS OF ANNE �I found no Language of my Love escap'd thee, 180 �Tho' wrapped in Myst'ry to delude the Croud ; When ev'ry longing Look cou'd raise a Blush, And every Sigh I breath'd heave this lov'd Bosom, Which held such soft Intelligence with mine, And now o'erflows with a like Tide of Pleasure. �Amal. Oh ! yes, it do's ; it meets the vast Delight, And takes the Thought ev'n of Elysium from me. Nor will I, as some peevish Beauty might, Take light offence, that mine you did not mention; Since 'tis my equalling Aristor's Love 190 �Is all the Charm, I wou'd be proud to boast of. �Aristor. Believe not, that I slighted such Perfections. I saw you Fair, beyond the Fame of Helen; But Beauty's vain, and fond of new Applause, Leaving the last Adorer in Despair At his approach, who can but praise it better: Whilst Love, Narcissus-like, courts his Reflection, And seeks itself, gazing on other's Eyes. When this I found in yours, it bred that Passion, Which Time, nor Age, nor Death, shall e'er diminish. 200 �Amal. For Time, or Age, I think not of their Power. But, after Death, Aristor, cou'd you love me, Still call to me your Thoughts, when so far absent, And mourn me sleeping in that Rival's Arms ? �Aristor. Yes; if I cou'd outlive my Amalintha, Still shou'd I turn my Eyes to that cold Grave, Still love thee there, and wish to lie as low. But why do's ev'ry Period of thy Speech Thus sadly close with that too mournful Subject? Why, now I press this Question, dost thou weep, 210 �Yet in my Bosom strive to hide thy Tears? Paleness is on thy Cheek, and thy damp Brow Strikes to my Heart such sympathizing Cold, ��� �