On GALLA. <br /> <br />Now liquid Streams by the fierce Cold do grow <br />As solid as the Rocks from whence they flow; <br />Now Tibers Banks with Ice united meet, <br />And it's firm Stream may well be term'd its Street; <br />Now Vot'ries 'fore the Shrines like Statues show, <br />And scarce the Men from Images we know; <br />Now Winters Palsey seizes ev'ry Age, <br />And none's so warm, but feels the Seasons Rage; <br />Even the bright Lillies and triumphant Red <br />Which o're Corinna's youthful cheeks are spred, <br />Look pale and bleak, and shew a purple hew, <br />And Violets staine, where Roses lately grew. <br /> <br />Galla alone, with wonder we behold, <br />Maintain her Spring, and still out-brave the Cold; <br />Her constant white does not to Frost give place, <br />Nor fresh Vermillion fade upon her face: <br />Sure Divine beauty in this Dame does shine? <br />Not Humane, one reply'd, yet not Divine.<br /><br />Anne Killigrew<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fourth-epigram/
