The Platonick.

FAIR Octavia, you are much too bla…
To blow the fire, and wonder at the
I did converse, 'tis true, so far was mine;
But that I lov'd, and hop'd, was wholly thine;
Not hop'd, as others do, for a return,
But that I might without offending burn.
I thought those eyes which every hour
Could not remember all the wounds they
Forgotten in the crowd I wisht to lie,
And of your coldness, not your anger, die;
Yet since you know I love, 'tis now no time
Longer to hide, let me excuse the crime;
Seeing what laws I to my passion give,
Perhaps you may consent that it should live,
First, it never shall a hope advance
Of waiting on you, but by seeming chance,
I at a distance will adore your eyes,
As awful Persians do the Eastern Skies,
I never will presume to think of Sex,
Norwith gross thoughts my deathless love perplex
I tread a pleasant path without design;
And to thy care my happiness resign,
From Heaven it self thy beauty cannot be
A freer gift then is my love to thee.