Lady Winchilsea, Anne Finch poetry and my praise.
Song.. The nymph in vain bestows her painsThat seeks to thrive where Bacchus reigns;In vain are charms, or smiles, or frowns,All images his torrent drowns. Flames to the head he may impart,But makes an island of the heart,So inaccessible and cold,That to be his is to be oldAnne Finch… Continue reading