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She passed like summer flowers away. Her aspect and her voice Will never more rejoice,
For she lies hushed in cold decay); Broken the golden bowl, Which held her hallowed soul:
It was an idle boast to say
" Our souls are as the same," And stings me now to shame ;
Her spirit went, and mine did not obey.
Thos. Wool tier. "My Beautiful Lady.
I'm no slave to such as you be ;
Neither shall a snowy breast, Wanton eye, or lip of ruby, Ever rob me of my rest Go, go, display Thy beauty's ray To some o'er-soon enamoured swain; These common wiles Of sighs and smiles Are all bestowed on me in vain.
For thou wert born of woman 1 Thou didst come, O Holiest ! to this world of sin and gloom, Not in Thy omnipotent array ;
And not by thunders strewed
Was Thy tempestuous road ;
Nor indignation burnt before Thee on Thy way.
But Thee, a soft and naked child,
Thy mother undefiled, In the rude manger laid to rest From off her virgin breast.