On Myself

Good Heav’n, I thank thee, since it was designed
I should be framed, but of the weaker kind,
That yet, my Soul, is rescued from the love
Of all those trifles which their passions move.
Pleasures and praise and plenty have with me
But their just value. If allowed they be,
Freely, and thankfully as much I taste,
As will not reason or religion waste,
If they’re denied, I on my self can live,
And slight those aids unequal chance does give.
When in the sun, my wings can be displayed,
And, in retirement, I can bless the shade.

More Poems by Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea