The Gods Are Not More Blest Than He

The Gods are not more blest than he,
Who fixing his glad eyes on thee,
With thy bright Rays his senses chears,
And drinks with ever thirsty Ears,
The charming Musick of thy Tongue
Does ever hear and ever long,
That sees with more than humane Grace
Sweet smiles adorn thy Angel Face.

So when with kinder Beams you shine,
And so appear much more Divine,
My feebled Sense and dazzled Sight
No more support the glorious Light,
And the fierce torrent of Delight.
O then I feel my Life decay,
My ravish’d Soul then flies away;
Then Faintness does my Limbs surprize,
And Darkness swims before my Eyes.

Then my Tongue fails, and from my Brow
The Liquid Drops in Silence flow;
Then wand’ring Fires run thro my Blood,
Then Cold binds up the languid Flood;
All Pale and Breathless then I lie,
I sigh, I tremble, and I die.