 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
COME, LET US TRIP IT LIGHTLY.
Come, let us trip it lightly, love,
Where Flora's sweets are blending;
The moon is beaming brightly, love,
With starry lamps attending.
The grove and hill, the mead and rill,
Have charms that must delight thee,
Then let us haste their sweets to taste,
While zephyr's sighs invite thee.
An hour like this imparts a bliss
To souls of kindred feeling,
A pure delight, serenely bright,
Along the pulses stealing.
Where Flora's sweets are blending;
The moon is beaming brightly, love,
With starry lamps attending.
The grove and hill, the mead and rill,
Have charms that must delight thee,
Then let us haste their sweets to taste,
While zephyr's sighs invite thee.
54
To souls of kindred feeling,
A pure delight, serenely bright,
Along the pulses stealing.
The evening star is peeping, love,
From yonder paler cluster,
The glassy lake is sleeping, love,
Enriched with borrowed lustre.
The babbling brook, with brighter look,
Meanders through the dingle;
And chirping notes from insect throats,
In tuneless measures mingle.
An hour like this, which wakes to bliss,
The hearts of meaner creatures,
Must surely light a smile as bright
On love's expressive features.
From yonder paler cluster,
The glassy lake is sleeping, love,
Enriched with borrowed lustre.
The babbling brook, with brighter look,
Meanders through the dingle;
And chirping notes from insect throats,
In tuneless measures mingle.
An hour like this, which wakes to bliss,
The hearts of meaner creatures,
Must surely light a smile as bright
On love's expressive features.
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |