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Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875.

Edmund Waller

XCV. On a Girdle

THAT which her slender waist confined

Shall now my joyful temples bind;

No monarch but would give his crown

His arms might do what this has done.

It was my Heaven’s extremest sphere,

The pale which held that lovely deer

My joy, my grief, my hope, my love

Did all within this circle move.

A narrow compass! and yet there

Dwelt all that’s good, and all that’s fair:

Give me but what this ribband bound,

Take all the rest the Sun goes round.