166. Wherein He Dilates Upon the Stolen Glove -
WHEREIN HE DILATES UPON THE STOLEN GLOVE
O lovely hand, that dost my heart enclose
And my whole life in a small space confine!
O hand, where Heaven and Nature both combine
Their art and ardours in supreme repose!
Sweet fingers, purest pearls of orient rose
To my wounds only cruel and malign!
Does Love permit this mercy that you shine
Unsheathed before me — Love that feels and knows?
O glove, most dear, most white, most delicate,
The perfect sheath for rose-stained ivory,
Where on this earth can mortal consummate
So sweet a privilege? Yield thine to me!
O fickle Fortune, O inconstant Fate,
So soon to rob the robber of his fee!
O lovely hand, that dost my heart enclose
And my whole life in a small space confine!
O hand, where Heaven and Nature both combine
Their art and ardours in supreme repose!
Sweet fingers, purest pearls of orient rose
To my wounds only cruel and malign!
Does Love permit this mercy that you shine
Unsheathed before me — Love that feels and knows?
O glove, most dear, most white, most delicate,
The perfect sheath for rose-stained ivory,
Where on this earth can mortal consummate
So sweet a privilege? Yield thine to me!
O fickle Fortune, O inconstant Fate,
So soon to rob the robber of his fee!
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