On the Death of Mrs Bowes

Hail, happy bride, for thou art truly blest!

Three months of rapture, crowned with endless rest.

Merit like yours was heaven's peculiar care,

You loved yet tasted happiness sincere.

To you the sweets of love were only shown,

The sure succeeding bitter dregs unknown;

You had not yet the fatal change deplored,

The tender lover for th' imperious lord;

Nor felt the pain that jealous fondness brings;

Nor felt that coldness from possession springs.

Above your sex, distinguished in your fate,

You trusted yet experienced no deceit;

Soft were your hours, and winged with pleasure flew;

No vain repentance gave a sign to you:

And if superior bliss heaven can bestow,

With fellow angels you enjoy it now.

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu