Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/385

 Whate'er delight Can make Day's forehead bright, Or give down to the wings of Night.

I wish her store Of worth may leave her poor Of wishes; and I wish—no more.

Now, if Time knows That Her, whose radiant brows Weave them a garland of my vows;

Her, whose just bays My future hopes can raise, A trophy to her present praise;

Her, that dares be What these lines wish to see; I seek no further, it is She.

'Tis She, and here, Lo! I unclothe and clear My Wishes' cloudy character.

May she enjoy it Whose merit dare apply it, But modesty dares still deny it!

Such worth as this is Shall fix my flying Wishes, And determine them to kisses.

Let her full glory, My fancies, fly before ye; Be ye my fictions—but her story.