Poem by Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea

Adam Posed

Could our first father, at his toilsome plow,
Thorns in his path, and labor on his brow,
Clothed only in a rude, unpolished skin,
Could he a vain fantastic nymph have seen,
In all her airs, in all her antic graces,
Her various fashions, and more various faces;
How had it posed that skill, which late assigned
Just appellations to each several kind!
A right idea of the sight to frame;
T’have guessed from what new element she came;
T’have hit the wav’ring form, or giv’n this thing a name.

1. A Description of One of the Pieces of Tapistry at Long-Leat
2. The Marriage of Edward Herbert Esquire, and Mrs. Elizabeth Herbert
3. Hope
4. The Tree
5. A Nocturnal Reverie

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