An Ode : While From Our Looks, Fair Nymph, You Guess

By Matthew Prior

While from our looks, fair nymph, you guess

The secret passions of our mind;

My heavy eyes, you say, confess

A heart to love and grief inclined.

There needs, alas! but little art

To have this fatal secret found;

With the same ease you threw the dart,

'Tis certain you can show the wound.

How can I see you, and not love,

While you as opening cast are fair?

While cold as northern blasts you prove,

How can I love, and not despair?

The wretch in double fetters bound

Your potent mercy may release;

Soon, if my love but once were crown'd,

Fair prophetess, my grief would cease.