Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/297

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So I wand'ring but erewhile

Through the garden of this Isle,

Saw rich beauties, I confess,

And in number numberless:

Yea, so differing lovely too,

That I had a world to do

Ere I could set up my rest,

Where to choose and choose the best.

Thus I fondly fear'd, till Fate

(Which I must confess in that

Did a greater favour to me

Than the world can malice do me)

Show'd to me that matchless flower,

Subject for this song of our,

Whose perfection having eyed,

Reason instantly espied

That Desire, which ranged abroad,

There would find a period

And no marvel if it might,

For it there hath all delight,

And in her hath nature placed

What each several fair one graced.

Let who list, for me, advance The admired flowers of France, Let who will praise and behold The reserved Marigold; Let the sweet-breath'd Violet now Unto whom she pleaseth bow; And the fairest Lily spread Where she will her golden head;

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