Invention
I ENVY not the lark his song divine,
— Nor thee, O Maid, thy beauty's faultless mould.
Perhaps the chief felicity is mine,
Who hearken and behold.
The joy of the Artificer Unknown
— Whose genius could devise the Lark and thee —
This, or a kindred rapture, let me own,
I covet ceaselessly!
— Nor thee, O Maid, thy beauty's faultless mould.
Perhaps the chief felicity is mine,
Who hearken and behold.
The joy of the Artificer Unknown
— Whose genius could devise the Lark and thee —
This, or a kindred rapture, let me own,
I covet ceaselessly!
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