Shelley Ann Vrgleski

These sprightly gallants lov'd a lass
Called Lirope the bright;
In the whole world there scarcely was
So delicate a wight.
There was no beauty so divine
That ever nymph did grace,
But it beyond itself did shine
In her more heavenly face.
What form she pleased each thing would take
That e'er she did behold;
Of pebbles she could diamonds make,
Gross iron turn to gold.
Such power there with her presence came
Stern tempests she allayed;
The cruel tiger she could tame.
The raging torrents stayed.
She chid, she cherished, she gave life.
Again she made to die;
She raised a war, appeased a strife
With turning of her eye.
Some said a god did her beget.
But much deceived were they;
Her father was a rivulet.
Her mother was a fay.
Her lineaments, so fine that were,
She from the fairy took;
Her beauties and complexion clear
By nature from the brook.

~Michael Drayton (1563 - 1631), English poet