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Poem by Edmund Waller


To A Lady Singing A Song Of His Composing


Chloris! yourself you so excel,
When you vouchsafe to breathe my thought,
That, like a spirit, with this spell
Of my own teaching, I am taught.

That eagle's fate and mine are one,
Which, on the shaft that made him die,
Espied a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to soar so high.

Had Echo, with so sweet a grace,
Narcissus' loud complaints returned,
Not for reflection of his face,
But of his voice, the boy had burned.



Edmund Waller


Edmund Waller's other poems:
  1. The Self Banished
  2. To One Married to an Old Man
  3. On the Friendship Betwixt Two Ladies
  4. At Penshurst
  5. Upon the Late Storm


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