A Collection Of Poems | ||
112
A SONG.
[Wanton Gales that fondly Play]
Wanton Gales that fondly Play
Round about my love sick-Head;
Quickly waft my Sighs away,
To the Nymph for whom I Bleed.
Round about my love sick-Head;
Quickly waft my Sighs away,
To the Nymph for whom I Bleed.
Softly Whisper in her Ear,
All the Pains for her I feel,
All the Torments that I bear,
Tell her, She alone can heal.
All the Pains for her I feel,
All the Torments that I bear,
Tell her, She alone can heal.
Then with unsuspected Care,
Gently Fan her lovely Breast:
(Happy you may Revel there,
Where each God wou'd wish to Rest.)
Gently Fan her lovely Breast:
(Happy you may Revel there,
Where each God wou'd wish to Rest.)
113
If one spark of fond Desire,
Harbour'd there by Chance you find,
Raise it too a lasting Fire,
Such as burns within my Mind.
Harbour'd there by Chance you find,
Raise it too a lasting Fire,
Such as burns within my Mind.
A Collection Of Poems | ||