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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431436" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Epistle to the Earl of Burlington</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">How happy you! who varied joys pursue; <br>And every hour presents you something new! <br>Plans, schemes, and models, all Palladio's art, <br>For six long months have gain'd upon your heart; <br>Of collonades, of corridors you talk, <br>The winding staircase and the cover'd walk; <br>You blend the orders with Vitruvian toil, <br>And raise with wond'rous joy the fancy'd pile: <br>But the dull workman's slow-performing hand <br>But coldly executes his lord's command. <br>With dirt and mortar soon you grow displeas'd, <br>Planting succeeds, and avenues are rais'd, <br>Canals are cut, and mountains level made, <br>Bow'rs of retreat, and galleries of shade; <br>The shaven turf presents a lively green; <br>The bordering flowers in mystic knots are seen: <br>With studied art on nature you refine -- <br>The spring beheld you warm in this design, <br>But scarce the cold attacks your fav'rite trees, <br>Your inclination fails, and wishes freeze: <br>You quit the grove so lately you admir'd; <br>With other views your eager hopes are fir'd; <br>Post to the city you direct your way; <br>Not blooming paradise could bribe your stay: <br>Ambition shows you power's brightest side, <br>'Tis meanly poor in solitude to hide: <br>Though certain pains attend the cares of state, <br>A good man owes his country to be great; <br>Should act abroad the high distinguish'd part, <br>Or show at least the purpose of his heart. <br>With thoughts like these the shining courts you seek, <br>Full of new projects for almost a week; <br>You then despise the tinsel-glittering snare, <br>Think vile mankind below a serious care. <br>Life is too short for any distant aim; <br>And cold the dull reward of future fame: <br>Be happy then, while yet you have to live; <br>And love is all the blessing Heav'n can give. <br>Fir'd by new passion you address the fair, <br>Survey the opera as a gay parterre; <br>Young Chloe's bloom had made you certain prize, <br>But for a sidelong glance from Celia's eyes: <br>Your beating heart acknowledges her pow'r; <br>Your eager eyes her lovely form devour; <br>You feel the poison swelling in your breast, <br>And all your soul by fond desire possess'd. <br>In dying sighs a long three hours are past; <br>To some assembly with impatient haste, <br>With trembling hope, and doubtful fear, you move, <br>Resolv'd to tempt your fate, and own your love: <br>But there Belinda meets you on the stairs, <br>Easy her shape, attracting all her airs; <br>A smile she gives, and with a smile can wound; <br>Her melting voice hath music in the sound; <br>Her every motion wears resistless grace; <br>Wit in her mien, and pleasure in her face: <br>Here while you vow eternity of love, <br>Chloe and Celia unregarded move. <br>Thus on the sands of Afric's burning plains, <br>However deeply made, no long impress remains; <br>The slightest leaf can leave its figure there; <br>The strongest form is scatter'd by the air. <br>So yielding the warm temper of your mind, <br>So touch'd by every eye, so toss'd by wind; <br>Oh! how unlike the Heav'n my soul design'd! <br>Unseen, unheard, the throng around me move; <br>Not wishing praise, insensible of love; <br>No whispers soften, nor no beauties fire; <br>Careless I see the dance, and coldly hear the lyre. <br>So num'rous herds are driv'n o'er the rock; <br>No print is left of all the passing flock: <br>So sings the wind around the solid stone; <br>So vainly beat the waves with fruitless moan. <br>Tedious the toil, and great the workman's care, <br>Who dare attempt to fix impressions there: <br>But should some swain, more skilful than the rest, <br>Engrave his name upon this marble breast, <br>Not rolling ages could deface that name; <br>Through all the storms of life 'tis still the same: <br>Though length of years with moss may shade the ground, <br>Deep, though unseen, remains the secret wound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lady+Mary+Wortley+Montagu">Lady Mary Wortley Montagu</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431436" data-title="An Epistle to the Earl of Burlington de Lady Mary Wortley Montagu" data-description="How happy you! who varied joys pursue; 
And every hour presents you something new! 
Plans, schemes, and models, all Palladio's art, 
For six long months have gain'd upon your heart; 
Of collonades, of corridors you talk, 
The winding staircase and..."></div>
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