Sadness in your face is seen.
It is wrong your cure to shun,
Seeking to mislead mine eyes,
Since I would unsphere the skies,
Shake the stars, and shroud the sun,
For the least desire you feel
That more pleasantly you might live.
CYPRIAN. Magic has no power to give
The impossible I conceal,
Though the misery I betray.
DEMON. Come, confess the longed-for bliss.
CYPRIAN. I love a woman.
DEMON. And is this
The impossible that you say?
CYPRIAN. If you knew her, you'd agree.
DEMON. Well, describe her, I'm resigned;
Though I can't but smile to find
What a coward you must be.
CYPRIAN. The fair cradle of the skies,
Where the infant sun reposes,
Ere he rises, decked with roses,
Robed in snow, to dry heaven's eyes.
The green prison-bud that tries
To restrain the conscious rose,
When the crimson captive knows
April treads its gardens near,
Turning dawn's half frozen tear
To a smile where sunshine glows.
The sweet streamlet gliding by,
Though it scarcely dares to breathe
Softest murmurs through its teeth,
From the frosts that on it lie.
The bright pink, in its small sky
Shining like a coral star.
The blithe bird that flies afar,
Drest in shifting shades and blooms --
Soaring cithern of plumes
Harping high o'er heaven's blue bar.
The white rock that cheats the sun
When it tries to melt it down,
What it melts is but the crown
Which from winter's snow it won.
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