Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. III. The Eighteenth Century: Addison to Blake

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea (1661–1720)

Extract from An Ode to the Spleen

FALSELY the mortal part we blame

Of our depressed and ponderous frame,

Which, till the first degrading sin

Let thee, its dull attendant, in,

Still with the other did comply,

Nor clogged the active soul, disposed to fly

And range the mansions of its native sky.

Nor, whilst in his own heaven he dwelt,

Whilst Man his paradise possessed,

His fertile garden in the fragrant East,

And all united odours felt,

No armèd sweets, until thy reign,

Could shock the sense, or in the face

A flushed, unhandsome colour place;

But now a jonquil daunts the feeble brain,

We faint beneath the aromatic pain,

Till some offensive scent thy powers appease,

And pleasure we resign for short and nauseous ease.