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 Love, that looks still on your eyes,

Though the winter have begun

To benumb our arteries,

Shall not want the summer's sun.

Welcome, welcome, then I sing, &c.

Love that still may see your cheeks,

Where all rareness still reposes,

Is a fool, if e'er he seeks

Other lilies, other roses.

Welcome, welcome, &c.

Love, to whom your soft lip yields,

And perceives your breath in kissing,

All the odours of the fields

Never, never shall be missing.

Welcome, welcome, &c.

Love, that question would anew

What fair Eden was of old,

Let him rightly study you,

And a brief of that behold.

Welcome, welcome, then I, &c.

it was when droop'd the sweetest flow'rs,

And rivers, swoll'n with pride, o'erlook'd the banks;

Poor grew the day of summer's golden hours,

And void of sap stood Ida's cedar-ranks.

The pleasant meadows sadly lay

In chill and cooling sweats

By rising fountains, or as they

Fear'd winter's wastfull threats.