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Fontinella To Florinda

When on my bosom thy bright eyes,  Florinda, dart their heavenly beams,

I feel not the least love surprise,  Yet endless tears flow down in streams;

There's nought so beautiful in thee,  But you may find the same in me.

The lilies of thy skin compare;  In me you see them full as white:

The roses of your cheeks,

I dare  Affirm, can't glow to more delight.

Then, since I show as fine a face,  Can you refuse a soft embrace?

Ah! lovely nymph, thou'rt in thy prime!  And so am I, while thou art here;

But soon will come the fatal time,  When all we see shall disappear.'Tis mine to make a just reflection,  And yours to follow my direction.

Then catch admirers while you may;  Treat not your lovers with disdain;

For time with beauty flies away,  And there is no return again.

To you the sad account I bring,  Life's autumn has no second spring.

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Jonathan Swift

Jonathan Swift (30 November 1667 – 19 October 1745) was an Anglo-Irish satirist, essayist, political pamphleteer (first for the Whigs, then for …

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