The gatherd storme is rype; the bigge drops falle;The forswat meadowes smethe, and drenche the raine;The comyng ghastness do the cattle pall,And the full flockes are drivynge ore the plaine;Dashde from the cloudes the waters flott againe;The welkin opes; the yellow levynne flies;And the hot fierie smothe in the wide lowings dies.
Beauty has wings, and too hastily flies,And love, unrewarded, soon sickens and dies.edward moore
Eye nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies,And catch the manners, living as they rise;Laugh where we must, be candid where we can,But vindicate the ways of God to man.Alexander Pope
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