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The Lucasta Poems by Richard Lovelace
page 272 of 365 (74%)
Thy self a fane that's cupula'd;
And in thy wreathed cloister thou
Walkest thine own gray fryer too;
Strickt and lock'd up, th'art hood all ore,
And ne'r eliminat'st thy dore.
On sallads thou dost feed severe,
And 'stead of beads thou drop'st a tear,
And when to rest each calls the bell,
Thou sleep'st within thy marble cell,
Where, in dark contemplation plac'd,
The sweets of Nature thou dost tast,
Who now with time thy days resolve,
And in a jelly thee dissolve,
Like a shot star, which doth repair
Upward, and rarifie the air.

<83.1> Anticipating, forerunning.

<83.2> It can scarcely be requisite to mention that Lovelace
refers to the gradual evanescence of the moon before the growing
daylight. It is well known that the lunar orb is, at certain
times, visible sometime even after sunrise.



ANOTHER.

The Centaur, Syren, I foregoe;
Those have been sung, and lowdly too:
Nor of the mixed Sphynx Ile write,
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