The Pink – Henry King

Fair one, you did on me bestow 
Comparisons too sweet to ow; 
And but I found them sent from you 
I durst not think they could be true. 
But ’tis your uncontrolled power 
Goddess-like to produce a flower, 
And by your breath, without more seed, 
Make that a Pink which was a Weed. 
Because I would be loth to miss 
So sweet a Metamorphosis, 
Upon what stalk soere I grow 
Disdain not you sometimes to blow 
And cherish by your Virgin eye 
What in your frown would droop and die: 
So shall my thankful leaf repay 
Perfumed wishes every day: 
And o’re your fortune breathe a spell 
Which may his obligation tell, 
Who though he nought but air can give 
Must ever your (Sweet) creature live. 

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