Mrs. Eliz. Wheeler, Under the Name of the Lost Shepherdess

Among the myrtles as I walk'd,Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd:Tell me, said I, in deep distress,Where I may find my shepherdess.Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not this?In everything that's sweet she is.

In yond' carnation go and seek,There thou shalt find her lip and cheek:In that enamell'd pansy by,There thou shalt have her curious eye:In bloom of peach and rose's bud,There waves the streamer of her blood.'Tis true, said I, and thereuponI went to pluck them one by one,To make of parts a union:But on a sudden all were gone.At which I stopp'd; said Love, these beThe true resemblances of thee;For, as these flowers, thy joys must die,And in the turning of an eye:And all thy hopes of her must wither,Like those short sweets, ere knit together.