Showing posts with label Henry Kett. Show all posts

In Mary's absence, reason gains his throne,
And binds with stricter chains the struggling breast;
Scared at his angry frown and stern behest
Love spreads his wings and flies with many a moan.
When Mary comes with vermeil-tinctured cheek,
With graceful mien and mirth-awakening eye,
Prudence, disarmed, forsakes his ground, to fly,
And reason's chains, as touched by magic, break.

Thus when the chilling blast transforms to frost
The night-born dews that bathe the polished glass,
The roving eye, in pleasing error lost,
Sees rock and woods crowd the fantastic mass;
But soon as shines the sun's meridian ray
The icy prospect melts in streams away.