To Phillis, on Her Being Cold in the Heat of Summer
When all that lies beneath the Sun
Is scorch'd, or melted with his Fire:
How comes it, Phillis , you alone
Glow not from Weather, nor Desire?
Like snowy Mountains, chill, and high,
Tow'ring you still o'erlook Mankind;
Whilst at your Feet we burning lie,
Thee, brightest Nymph, all Frost we find.
Our Dog-Days from the Sun and You,
Must the scorch'd World at once receive?
Your Ice, like Him, inflames us too,
And does redoubled Ardours give.
Your Eyes that set our Souls on Fire,
The Part of Burning-Glasses play;
Whilst they remain themselves entire,
Yet dart thro' Ours Love's burning Ray.
Is scorch'd, or melted with his Fire:
How comes it, Phillis , you alone
Glow not from Weather, nor Desire?
Like snowy Mountains, chill, and high,
Tow'ring you still o'erlook Mankind;
Whilst at your Feet we burning lie,
Thee, brightest Nymph, all Frost we find.
Our Dog-Days from the Sun and You,
Must the scorch'd World at once receive?
Your Ice, like Him, inflames us too,
And does redoubled Ardours give.
Your Eyes that set our Souls on Fire,
The Part of Burning-Glasses play;
Whilst they remain themselves entire,
Yet dart thro' Ours Love's burning Ray.
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