Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine; Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies; Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere Lightning on him that fixed thee there.
Tempt me with such affrights no more, Lest what I made I uncreate! Let fools thy mystic forms adore; I'll know thee in thy mortal state.
Wise poets, that wrapped the truth in tales, Knew her themselves through all her veils.
End of title
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