by John Corry
Come, gentle mistress of my tender heart,
And let us Spring's expanding beauties trace;
But, all her vivid tints can never impart
Such pleasure as thy health-illumined face.
My dearest love! thy blush, of rosy hue -
Thy timid glance, and modest down-cast eyes,
Appear more lovely to my raptured view
Than Spring's soft smile, that Nature beautifies.
So, Venus blushed, emerging from the main,
When her enchanting graces rose to light -
So looks Aurora over the dewy plain,
When her effulgence triumphs over Night.
I love to chaunt my youthful charmer's praise,
Press thy soft hand, or hear thy dulcet voice -
I love to view my fair, with studious gaze,
Whilst thy soft blandishments my heart rejoice.
Come, with the bloom of Hebe in thy cheek,
Thy light-brown hair, and eyes of azure hue -
Come, lightly range over the fresh mead, and seek
The sweetest flowerets, gemmed with sparkling dew.
Behold, my love! the variegated bloom
With which unclouded Light the field pourtrays;
Thou fair their forms, and pleasant their perfume,
Thy perfect frame more elegance displays.
If aught on earth my soul could idolize,
To thee I would implicit homage pay -
To thee! whose smiles my eager sight surprize
With transient glimpses of celestial Day.
But Reason, conscious that those charms must fade,
Bids my fond heart its ardent zeal repress,
And whispers, " Woo and win the tender maid,
" Whose virtues shall thy social moments bless.
Last updated November 29, 2022