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Poem	SONNET CXCI. Aura, che quelle chiome bionde e crespe. HE ENVIES THE BREEZE WHICH SPORTS WITH HER, THE STREAM THAT FLOWS TOWARDS HER. Ye laughing gales, that sporting with my fair,The silky tangles of her locks unbraid;And down her breast their golden treasures spread;Then in fresh mazes weave her curling hair,You kiss those bright destructive eyes, that bearThe flaming darts by which my heart has bled;My trembling heart! that oft has fondly stray'dTo seek the nymph, whose eyes such terrors wear.Methinks she's found—but oh! 'tis fancy's cheat!Methinks she's seen—but oh! 'tis love's deceit!Methinks she's near—but truth cries "'tis not so!"Go happy gale, and with my Laura dwell!Go happy stream, and to my Laura tellWhat envied joys in thy clear crystal flow! Anon. 1777. Thou gale, that movest, and disportest roundThose bright crisp'd locks, by them moved sweetly too,That all their fine gold scatter'st to the view,Then coil'st them up in beauteous braids fresh wound;About those eyes thou playest, where aboundThe am'rous swarms, whose stings my tears renew!And I my treasure tremblingly pursue,Like some scared thing that stumbles o'er the ground.[Pg 203]Methinks I find her now, and now perceiveShe's distant; now I soar, and now descend;Now what I wish, now what is true believe.Stay and enjoy, blest air, the living beam;And thou, O rapid, and translucent stream,Why can't I change my course, and thine attend? Nott.
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