| Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875. |
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| E. Waller |
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| XCV. On a Girdle |
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| 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. | |
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| It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, | 5 |
| The pale which held that lovely deer | |
| My joy, my grief, my hope, my love | |
| Did all within this circle move. | |
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| A narrow compass! and yet there | |
| Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair: | 10 |
| Give me but what this ribband bound, | |
| Take all the rest the Sun goes round. | |
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