Distance

FAR from the Fire I burn, and run in vain,
Slowly from winged Love, to 'scape the Pain;
So the swift Arrows, flying quick as Wind,
Wound them that run, when th'Archer stays behind.

Love, tho' I strive with Art to shun the Blow,
Fiercely assaults my Heart where e're I go;
As he can best a mortal Stroak command,
Who has most compass for his striking Hand.

Hoping to 'scape, I as the Bird do fare,
That has his Foot entangled in a Snare;
Fears Death, or in a Prison to be cast,
Flutters its Wings, and strives, but still is fast.

So I, with all my Toyl, no Ease have got,
My Strugling does but faster tye the Knot,
For Cynthia imitating Heavens swift Ray,
Near, or at distance, can her Flames convey.