[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]
AS charming Clara walk’d alone,
The feather’d snow came softly down,
Like Jove descending from his tower,
To court her in a silver shower:
The shining flakes flew to her breasts,
As little birds into their nests;
But being outdone with whiteness there,
For grief dissolv’d into a tear;
Thence flowing down her garment’s hem,
To deck her froze into a gem.
