Page:Poems upon Several Occasions.djvu/44

And Fancy blows into a Flame
The Spark, that from her Beauty came.

IV.

The Object thus improv'd by Thought,

By my own Image I am caught:
Pygmalion so, with fatal Art,
Polish'd the Form that stung his Heart.

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To MYRA.

I.

WHEN wilt thou break, my stubborn Heart?

O Death, how slow to take my part!
Whatever I pursue, denies,
Death, Death it self, like Myra flies.

II.

Love and Despair, like Twins, possest

At the same fatal Birth my Breast;
No Hope could be, her Scorn was all
That to my destin'd Lot cou'd fall.

III.

I thought, alas! that Love cou'd dwell

But in warm Climes, where no Snow fell;
Like Plants, that kindly Heat require,
To be maintain'd by constant Fire.

IV. That