The Separation

I Ghess'd none wretched in his love,
But who his Mistress's scorn did prove,
Nor judg'd him happy, but whose fire
Was paid with mutual desire:
But sad Experience tells,
In both extreams there dwells
A destiny, which so malignant is
To make Man wretched in his greatest bliss.

The brightest Beauty I adore,
That consecrated Earth e're bore,
The sweetest Person, fairest Mind,
That ever met in Woman-kind;
And (which afflicts me) am
Met with an equal flame:
For, had she hated me, her scorn might have
Condemn'd my Infant-love to its blest Grave.

But such 'tis nourisht by her grace,
As Time, nor Objects can deface,
To such a faith, as cannot be
Compell'd from its Integrity.
But oh, th' unwelcome cause,
Of superstitious Laws!
That us, from our mutual Embraces tear,
And separates our bloods, because too near.