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Thou water turn'st to wine (fair friend of life)
To Thee these first-fruits of My growing death
Two devils at one blow thou hast laid flat
Two mites, two drops (yet all her house and land)
Unde rubor vestris, et non sua purpura lymphis? -
Welcome, my grief, my joy; how dear's
Well, Peter, dost thou wield thy active sword
Whatever story of their cruelty
What Heaven-besiegèd heart is this
What? Mars' sword? fair Cytherea say
When you are mistress of the song
What succour can I hope the Muse will send
Whence in your waters, say, that alien glow?
Where art thou, Sol, while thus the blindfold Day
Why dost thou wound my wounds, O thou that passest by
WILLIAM ANDREWS & CO., PRINTERS, HULL.
Dressed in the glorious madness of a Muse,
Whose feet can walk the Milky-way, and choose
Upon the stoopèd shoulders of old Time,
TO THE MORNING.