THE SEPARATION by CHARLES COTTON

I

I GUESS'D none wretched in his love,
But who his Mistress's scorn did prove,
Nor judg'd him happy, but whose fire
Was paid with mutual desire:
But sad experience tells,
In both extremes there dwells
A destiny, which so malignant is
To make Man wretched in his greatest bliss.

II

The brightest Beauty I adore,
That consecrated Earth e'er bore,
The sweetest person, fairest mind,
That ever met in Womankind;
And (which afflicts me) am
Met with an equal flame:
For, had she hated me, her scorn might have
Condemn'd my infant love to its bless'd grave.

III

But such 'tis nourish'd by her grace,
As Time, nor objects can deface,
To such a faith, as cannot be
Compell'd from its integrity.
But oh, th' unwelcome cause,
Of superstitious laws!
That us, from our mutual embraces tear,
And separates our bloods, because too near.

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