Edmund Waller (Эдмунд Уоллер)

To a Lady Singing a Song of His Composing

Chloris! yourself you so excel,
When you vouchsafe to breathe my thought,
That, like a spirit, with this spell
Of my own teaching, I am taught.

That eagle's fate and mine are one,
Which, on the shaft that made him die,
Espied a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to soar so high.

Had Echo, with so sweet a grace,
Narcissus' loud complaints returned,
Not for reflection of his face,
But of his voice, the boy had burned.

1. Of My Lady Isabella Playing on the Lute
2. The Self Banished
3. On the Friendship Betwixt Two Ladies
4. To the King
5. At Penshurst

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