Dear little, pretty, favourite ore, That once increas'd @3Gloriana's@1 store That lay within her bosom bless'd, Gods might have envied thee thy nest. I've read, imperial @3Fove@1 of old For love transform'd himself to gold: And why, for a more lovely lass, May he not now have lurk'd in brass; Oh! rather than from her he'd part, He'd shut that charitable heart, That heart whose goodness nothing less Than his vast power, could dispossess. From @3Gloriana's@1 gentle touch Thy mighty value now is such, That thou to me art worth alone More than his medals are to @3Sloan@1. Not for the silver and the gold Which @3Corinth@1 lost should'st thou be sold: Not for the envied mighty mass Which misers wish, or @3M -- h@1 has: Not for what @3India@1 sends to @3Spain@1, Nor all the riches of the Main. While I possess thy little store, Let no man call, or think, me poor; Thee, while alive, my breast shall have, My hand shall grasp thee in the grave: Nor shalt thou be to @3Peter@1 given Tho' he should keep me out of heaven. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GETTYSBURG [JULY 1-3, 1863] by JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING (1) by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY HIS EXCELLENCY GENERAL WASHINGTON by PHILLIS WHEATLEY FAREWELL TO THE PILGRIMS by THEODORE M. BAKKE SONNET: AT MY WORD by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON RESENTIENTS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |