The More Things Change . . .


From Stella’s Birthday, by Jonathan Swift

. . . Stella, be not troubled,
Although thy size and years are doubled
Since I first saw thee at sixteen,
The brightest virgin on the green;
So little is thy form declined,
Made up so largely in thy mind.
O would it please the gods to split
Thy beauty, size, and years, and wit,
No age could furnish out a pair
Of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair;
With half the luster of your eyes,
With half you wit, your years and size.
And then, before it grew too late,
How should I beg of gentle Fate,
(The either nymph might have her swain)
To split my worship two in twain.

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This page contains a single entry by Ron Moffat published on March 16, 2006 8:47 AM.

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