Say not, OLINDA, I despise

Say not, OLINDA, I despise, The faded glories of your face, The languish'd vigour of your eyes, And that once only-lov'd embrace.

In vain, in vain, my constant heart, On aged wings attempts to meet, With wonted speech, those flames you dart, It faints and flutters at your feet.

I blame not your decay of power, You may have pointed beauties still, Tho' me, alas! they wound no more; You cannot hurt what cannot feel.

On youthful climes your beams display, There you may cherish with your heat, And rise the sun to gild their day, To me, benighted, when you set.