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Stellas Birthday
a poem by Jonathan Swift

Jonathan Swift

Stella this day is thirty-four, 
(We shan't dispute a year or more:) 
However, Stella, be not troubled, 
Although thy size and years are doubled, 
Since first I saw thee at sixteen, 
The brightest virgin on the green; 
So little is thy form declin'd; 
Made up so largely in thy mind. 

Oh, would it please the gods to split 
Thy beauty, size, and years, and wit; 
No age could furnish out a pair 
Of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair; 
With half the lustre of your eyes, 
With half your wit, your years, and size. 
And then, before it grew too late, 
How should I beg of gentle Fate, 
(That either nymph might have her swain,) 
To split my worship too in twain


Stellas Birthday
a poem by Jonathan Swift


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