An Ode : While From Our Looks, Fair Nymph, You Guess

While from our looks, fair nymph, you guess The secret passions of our mind; My heavy eyes, you say, confess A heart to love and grief inclined. There needs, alas! but little art To have this fatal secret found; With the same ease you threw the dart, 'Tis certain you can show the wound. How can I see you, and not love, While you as opening cast are fair? While cold as northern blasts you prove, How can I love, and not despair? The wretch in double fetters bound Your potent mercy may release; Soon, if my love but once were crown'd, Fair prophetess, my grief would cease.