Muse of Nymphs
Reflections strike thought of *Newfangled ill
Within the sight of all mirror,
Torching fire for thy tongue to spill
All blindness thy bosom do harbor.
For so oft in barren of wits
I’ve invoked thy fair face for my Muse
Never failing to win heaven’s graces;
Belting nymph melodies from the blankest of verse.
Yet, thy stares at mirror lie sore
But to my pen, a strike at gold
Thus never wishing back the days of yore
In fear of muse, if thine eye, beauty found
For thy lust at mirror lie my treasure
yet grief at blasphemies from such creature
*Newfangled ill= fashionably ugly
Within the sight of all mirror,
Torching fire for thy tongue to spill
All blindness thy bosom do harbor.
For so oft in barren of wits
I’ve invoked thy fair face for my Muse
Never failing to win heaven’s graces;
Belting nymph melodies from the blankest of verse.
Yet, thy stares at mirror lie sore
But to my pen, a strike at gold
Thus never wishing back the days of yore
In fear of muse, if thine eye, beauty found
For thy lust at mirror lie my treasure
yet grief at blasphemies from such creature
*Newfangled ill= fashionably ugly
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