PAVEMENT slipp'ry, people sneezing, Lords in ermine, beggars freezing ;
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A FORM, as any taper, fine ; A head like half-pint bason ;
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A form, as any taper, fine ;
A head like half-pint bason ;
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Crops like hedgehogs, high-crown'd hats,
Whispers like Jew MOSES ;
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Favour'd by Heav'n are those, ordain'd to taste
The bliss supreme that kindles fancy's fire;
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High on a rock, coaeval with the skies,
A Temple stands, rear'd by immortal pow'rs
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Turn to yon vale beneath, whose tangled shade
Excludes the blazing torch of noon-day light,
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Why, when I gaze on Phaon's beauteous eyes,
Why does each thought in wild disorder stray?
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O! How can LOVE exulting Reason queil!
How fades each nobler passion from his gaze!
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Is it to love, to fix the tender gaze,
To hide the timid blush, and steal away;
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Come, Reason, come! each nerve rebellious bind,
Lull the fierce tempest of my fev'rish soul;
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Why, through each aching vein, with lazy pace
Thus steals the languid fountain of my heart,
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Ye, who in alleys green and leafy bow'rs,
Sport, the rude children of fantastic birth;
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Dang'rous to hear, is that melodious tongue,
And fatal to the sense those murd'rous eyes,
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O! Reason! vaunted Sovreign of the mind!
Thou pompous vision with a sounding name!
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Now, o'er the tessellated pavement strew
Fresh saffron, steep'd in essence of the rose,
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Bring, bring to deck my brow, ye Sylvan girls,
A roseate wreath; nor for my waving hair
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Come, soft Aeolian harp, while zephyr plays
Along the meek vibration of thy strings,
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Now, round my favor'd grot let roses rise,
To strew the bank where Phaon wakes from rest;
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Delusive Hope! more transient than the ray
That leads pale twilight to her dusky bed,
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Love steals unheeded o'er the tranquil mind,
As Summer breezes fan the sleeping main,
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Why art thou chang'd? O Phaon! tell me why?
Love flies reproach, when passion feels decay;
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Farewell, ye coral caves, ye pearly sands,
Ye waving woods that crown yon lofty steep;
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Oh! I could toil for thee o'er burning plains;
Could smile at poverty's disastrous blow;
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Why do I live to loath the cheerful day,
To shun the smiles of Fame, and mark the hours
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Wild is the foaming Sea! The surges roar!
And nimbly dart the livid lightnings round!
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To AEtna's scorching sands my Phaon flies!
False Youth! can other charms attractive prove?
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O thou! meek Orb! that stealing o'er the dale
Cheer'st with thy modest beams the noon of night!
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Can'st thou forget, O! Idol of my Soul!
Thy Sappho's voice, her form, her dulcet Lyre!
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Where antique woods o'er-hang the mountains's crest,
And mid-day glooms in solemn silence lour;
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