THE heavy hours are almost past,
that part my love and me;
My longing eyes may hope at last,
their only with to see.
But how, my Delia, will you meet,
the man you’ve lost so long?
Will love in all your pulses beat,
and tremble on your tongue?
Will you in every look declare
your heart is still the fame?
And heal each anxious care,
our fears in absence frame?
Thus, Delia, this I paint the scene,
when we shall shortly meet;
And try what yet remains between,
of loit'ring time to cheat!
But if the dream that soothes my mind,
shall false and groundless prove;
If I am doom'd at length to find
you have forgot to love:
All I of Venus ask, is this,
no more to let us join;
But grant me here the flatt'ring bliss,
to die and think you mine.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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