Weeping
IMMITATION OF ENGLISH POETS. COWLEY
While Celia's tears make sorrow bright,Proud grief sits swelling in her eyes;The sun, next those the fairest light,Thus from the ocean first did rise:And thus through mists we see the sun,Which, else we durst not gaze upon.
These silver drops, like morning dew,Foretell the fervour of the day:So from one cloud soft showers we view,And blasting lightnings burst away.The stars that fall from Celia's eye,Declare our doom in drawing nigh.
The baby in that sunny sphereSo like a Phaëton appears,That Heaven, the threaten'd world to spare,Thought fit to drown him in her tears:Else might the ambitious nymph aspire,To set, like him, Heaven too on fire.
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