SAY NOT YOU LOVE ME.
I
Say not you love me because I am fair;
Praise not my beauty, my eyes, and my hair;
If these dark tresses have charm'd you to-day,
What will you think of me when they grow grey?
II
Oh! if you love me, endeavour to find
Some better reason, some charm of the mind;
Though with these tresses so fondly you play,
You'll seldom sport with them when they grow grey.
III
Love that slights beauty, in youth must be cold;—
Prizing that only, what is it when old?
Try to love something that will not decay;
Virtue grows dearer as tresses grow grey.