  That which her slender waist confined Shall now my joyful temples bind; No monarch but would give his crown, His arms might do what this hath done. It was my heaven's extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer: My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, Did all within this circle move. A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair. Give me but what this ribbon bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round! Edmund Waller. |
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