O Man! what Inspiration was thy Guide, <br />Who taught thee Light and Air thus to divide; <br />To let in all the useful Beams of Day, <br />Yet force, as subtil Winds, without thy Shash to stay; <br />T'extract from Embers by a strange Device, <br />Then polish fair these Flakes of solid Ice; <br />Which, silver'd o'er, redouble all in place, <br />And give thee back thy well or ill-complexion'd Face. <br />To Vessels blown exceed the gloomy Bowl, <br />Which did the Wine's full excellence controul, <br />These shew the Body, whilst you taste the Soul. <br />Its colour sparkles Motion, lets thee see, <br />Tho' yet th' Excess the Preacher warns to flee, <br />Lest Men at length as clearly spy through Thee.<br /><br />Anne Kingsmill Finch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/glass-3/
