CLORIS, it is not thy disdain Can ever cover with despair, Or in cold ashes hide that care Which I have fed with so long pain: I may perhaps mine eyes refrain, And fruitless words no more impart, But yet still serve, still serve thee in my heart. What though I spend my hapless days In finding entertainments out, Careless of what I go about, Or seek my peace in skilful ways, Applying to my eyes new rays Of beauty, and another flame Unto my heart, my heart is still the same. 'Tis true that I could love no face Inhabited by cold disdain, Taking delight in other's pain. Thy looks are full of native grace; Since then by chance scorn there hath place 'Tis to be hop'd I may remove This scorn one day, one day by endless Love. |