LUCASTA wept, and still the bright Enamour'd God of Day, With his soft handkercher of light, Kiss'd the wet pearls away. But when her tears his heat o'ercame, In clouds he quench'd his beams, And griev'd, wept out his eye of flame, So drowned her sad streams. At this she smil'd, when straight the sun Clear'd with her kind desires, And by her eyes' reflection Kindled again his fires. |