To a Lady seen for a Few Moments at Vauxhall

Time's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb,

      Long hours have to and fro let creep the sand,

Since I was tangled in thy beauty's web,

      And snared by the ungloving of thine hand.

And yet I never look on midnight sky,

      But I behold thine eyes' well-memoried light;

I cannot look upon the rose's dye,

      But to thy cheek my soul doth take its flight;

I cannot look on any budding flower,

      But my fond ear, in fancy at thy lips

And hearkening for a love-sound, doth devour

      Its sweets in the wrong sense:—Thou dost eclipse

Every delight with sweet remembering,

And grief unto my darling joys dost bring.