Behold, O Aspasia! I Send You Verses

Beauty! thou art a wanderer on the earth,
And hast no temple in the fairest isle
Or city over-sea, where wealth and Mirth
And all the Graces, all the Muses, smile.

Yet these have always nurst thee with such fond,
Such lasting love, that they have followed up
Thy steps thro' every land, and placed beyond
The reach of thirsty Time thy nectar-cup.

Thou art a wanderer, Beauty! like the rays
That now upon the platan, now upon
The sleepy lake, glance quick or idly gaze,
And now are manifold and now are none.

I have call'd, panting, after thee, and thou
Hast turn'd and lookt and said some pretty word,
Parting the hair, perhaps, upon my brow,
And telling me none ever was prefer'd.

In more than one bright form hast thou appear'd,
In more than one sweet dialect has thou spoken:
Beauty! thy spells the heart within me heard,
Griev'd that they bound it, grieves that they are broken.
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