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.
English Poetry - http://eng-poetry.ru/english/index.php. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org