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Poem	WHILE larks, with little wing, Fann’d the pure air, Tasting the breathing Spring, Forth I did fare: Gay the sun’s golden eye Peep’d o’er the mountains high; Such thy morn! did I cry, Phillis the fair. In each bird’s careless song, Glad I did share; While yon wild-flowers among, Chance led me there! Sweet to the op’ning day, Rosebuds bent the dewy spray; Such thy bloom! did I say, Phillis the fair. Down in a shady walk, Doves cooing were; I mark’d the cruel hawk Caught in a snare: So kind may fortune be, Such make his destiny, He who would injure thee, Phillis the fair.
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