56
POEMS.
'Twas not because its purer white
From Scythian snow would gain the prize,
Which made me for whole hours delight
To watch her bosom's fall and rise:
But 'twas because that bosom swelled
With passions free from vice and art;
And 'twas because that bosom held
A generous, fond, and feeling heart.
From Scythian snow would gain the prize,
Which made me for whole hours delight
To watch her bosom's fall and rise:
But 'twas because that bosom swelled
With passions free from vice and art;
And 'twas because that bosom held
A generous, fond, and feeling heart.
'Twas not because her eyes were bright,
Which made me still with rapture view
Their orbs illume with azure light
Encircling seas of diamond-dew.
But 'twas [when first She heard, I pined
With love, which Honour's laws forbid]
Because a tear-drop soft and kind
Escaped from either lovely lid.
Which made me still with rapture view
Their orbs illume with azure light
Encircling seas of diamond-dew.
But 'twas [when first She heard, I pined
With love, which Honour's laws forbid]
Because a tear-drop soft and kind
Escaped from either lovely lid.
Oh! I've with her past days alone,
Nor bade her lips one kiss confer:
And oft we've talked in tenderest tone
Of love, yet ne'er of love for her:
But sometimes [when her gentle art
To lull my care some means has found]
So much her Friendship eased its smart,
I've thought, her Love might cure my wound.
Nor bade her lips one kiss confer:
And oft we've talked in tenderest tone
Of love, yet ne'er of love for her:
But sometimes [when her gentle art
To lull my care some means has found]
So much her Friendship eased its smart,
I've thought, her Love might cure my wound.
