From “Jerusalem Delivered”
From the Italian by Edward Fairfax
“THOUGH gone, though dead, I love thee still; behold
Death wounds but kills not love: yet if thou live,
Sweet soul, still in his breast, my follies bold
Ah pardon, love’s desires and stealth...
Torquato Tasso
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From London Magazine
THY unripe youth seemed like the purple rose
That to the warm ray opens not its breast,
But, hiding still within its mossy vest,
Dares not its virgin beauties to disclose;
Or like Aurora, when the heaven first glows,—
For...