Ode — To Chloris from France (Pitty me Chloris, and the flame)

Pitty me Chloris, and the flame
Disdain, and Distance, cannot tame;
And pitty my necessity,
That makes my Court-ship, wanting thee,
Nothing but fond Idolatry.

In dark, and melancholy Groves,
Where pretty Birds discourse their loves,
I daily worship on my knee,
Thy Shadow, all I have of thee,
And sue to that to pity me.

I vow to it the sacred Vow,
To thee, and only thee, I owe
When (as it knew my true intent)
The silent Picture gives consent,
And seems to mourn my Banishment.

Presaging thence my love's success,
I triumph in my happiness,
And straight consider how each Grace,
Adorns thy Body; or thy Face,
Surrender up to my embrace.

I think this little Tablet now
Because less cruel, fair as Thou;
I do from it mercy implore,
'Tis the sole Saint I do adore,
I do not think I love thee more.

Yet be not jealous, though I do
Thus dote of it, in stead of you;
I love it not, for any line
Where captivating beauties shine:
But only (Chloris) as 'tis thine.

And, though thy Shaddow here take place,
By intimating future grace,
It goes before, but to impart
To thee, how beautiful thou art,
And shew a reason for my smart.

Nor is't improper, Sweet, since thou,
Art in thy Youthfull Morning now,
Whilst I, depriv'd of thine eyes light,
Do drooping live a tedious Night
In Paris, like an Anchorite.

Recall me then, that I may see,
Once more, how fair, and kind you be;
Into thy Sun-shine call again
Him, thus exil'd, by thy disdain,
And I'le forget my loss, and pain.