Song

By Matthew Prior

1664-1721


THE merchant, to secure his treasure,
         Conveys it in a borrow'd name:
Euphelia serves to grace my measure;
         But Chloe is my real flame.

My softest verse, my darling lyre,
         Upon Euphelia's toilet lay;
When Chloe noted her desire
         That I should sing, that I should play.

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise;
         But with my numbers mix my sighs:
And while I sing Euphelia's praise,
         I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes.

Fair Chloe blush'd: Euphelia frown'd:
         I sung, and gazed: I play'd, and trembled:
And Venus to the Loves around
         Remark'd, how ill we all dissembled.

DayPoems Poem No. 416
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/416.html">Song by Matthew Prior</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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