Classic Poem

Heav'ns bless me, what was that? my Fair,
Or some enliv'ned piece of Air ?
Or was 't her Genius , in her Shape ,
Or what of her, does Eyes escape?
Which having only chang'd its Shroud ,
Did now shine through another Cloud .
What other thing beside, so Like ,
Could or my Sight , or Fancy strike,
And thus have her Reflexion wrought,
Both in my Eye , and in my Thought .
Has Nature , learn't from duller Art,
One Stamp to fair ones , to impart,
And cast her Beauties , in a Mould ,
That they may all Resemblance hold;
And giv'n us this her first Essay ,
To show the Rule , she must obey?
No, no, 'twere pity that, though She,
Might Standard , for all Beauties be.
To make her Common, would abate
Her Value, and bring down her Rate.
Since things so Wondrous , and so Rare ,
All, Phaenix-like , unfellow'd are.

On surer grounds, we may pretend,
That Angels , in her Shape descend.
And 'cause her borrow'd Soul of Light ,
Was first perhaps, a Cherub 's Right.
Some Spirit , or some Soul , drop't down,
Her Form , mistaking for its own ,
Has snatch't, and in her Likeness dress't,
Has stole thus, from among the Blest ,
And personating her, has worn,
Her glorious Body , in Return.