From Town fair Arabella flies, <br />The Beaux unpowder'd grieve, <br />The Rivers play before her eyes, <br />The Breezes softly breathing rise <br />The Spring begins to live. <br />Her Lovers swore they must expire <br />Yet quickly find their Ease, <br />For as she goes, their Flames retire <br />Love thrives before a nearer fire <br />Esteem by distant Rays. <br />Yet soon the Fair one will return <br />When Summer quits the Plain <br />Ye Rivers pour the weeping Urn, <br />Ye Breezes sadly sighing mourn, <br />Ye Lovers burn again. <br />'Tis constancy enough in Love <br />That Nature's fairly shewn <br />To search for more will fruitless prove <br />Romances and the Turtle Dove <br />The Virtue boast alone.<br /><br />Thomas Parnell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-mrs-ar-f-leaving-london/
