The morning blush is like Azile made, Azile's cheeks are like the morning blush, If fair Aurora please to be the shade, Why should Azile scorn to be the bush? Thou art that bush, Azile, under whom My buskin Muse sings free from country strife, Thou art that Lotus to whose shade I come, To sup my milk, and sport away my life, That when thou seest my harmless sports excel, Thou may'st remember once thou knew'st me well.
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Other Poems of Interest...
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