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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=457101" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Ode</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=457101" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The merchant, to secure his treasure, <br>Conveys it in a borrowed name: <br>Euphelia serves to grace my measure; <br>But Cloe is my real flame.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=457101" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">My softest verse, my darling lyre <br>Upon Euphelia's toilet lay; <br>When Cloe noted her desire, <br>That I should sing, that I should play.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=457101" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">My lyre I tune, my voice I raise; <br>But with my numbers mix my sighs: <br>And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise, <br>I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=457101" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Fair Cloe blushed: Euphelia frowned: <br>I sung and gazed: I played and trembled: <br>And Venus to the Loves around <br>Remarked, how ill we all dissembled.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Matthew+Prior">Matthew Prior</a></strong></div>

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