Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903/A Letter to the Same Person
A LETTER TO THE SAME PERSON
Sure of Success, to You I boldly write
Whilst Love do's ev'ry tender Line endite;
Love, who is justly President of Verse,
Which all his Servants write, or else rehearse.
Phœbus (howe'er mistaken Poets dream)
Ne'er us'd a Verse, till Love became his Theme.
To his stray'd Son, still as his Passion rose,
He rais'd his hasty Voice in clam'rous Prose:
But when in Daphne he wou'd Love inspire,
He woo'd in Verse, set to his silver Lyre. 10
The Trojan Prince did pow'rful Numbers join
To sing of War; but Love was the Design:
And sleeping Troy again in Flames was drest,
To light the Fires in pitying Dido's Breast.
Love without Poetry's refining Aid
Is a dull Bargain, and but coarsely made;
Nor e'er cou'd Poetry successful prove,
Or touch the Soul, but when the Sense was Love.
Oh ! cou'd they both in Absence now impart
Skill to my Hand, but to describe my Heart; 20
Then shou'd you see impatient of your Stay
Soft Hopes contend with Fears of sad Delay ;
Love in a thousand fond Endearments there,
And lively Images of You appear.
But since the Thoughts of a Poetick Mind
Will never be to Syllables confin'd;
And whilst to fix. what is conceiv'd, we try,
The purer Parts evaporate and dye:
You must perform what they want force to do,
And think what your Ardelia thinks of you. 30
- October 21, 1690.