 | Poems |  |
69
HORACE.
Why, when I view those cherry lips,
That breast of sweets, those eyes of fire,
While Fancy from thy mouth rich nectar sips,
And round thy neck entwines each young desire?
That breast of sweets, those eyes of fire,
While Fancy from thy mouth rich nectar sips,
And round thy neck entwines each young desire?
Why should I ask, if twenty years,
Or twenty more matur'd those charms,
Thy breath, more soft than spring, thy lover cheers,
And more than summer lingers in thy arms.
Or twenty more matur'd those charms,
Thy breath, more soft than spring, thy lover cheers,
And more than summer lingers in thy arms.
The Muse for thee is proud to sing,
The Graces lead the dance to thee,
The Nymphs to thee their sweetest flowrets bring:
Oh! then it surely cannot winter be.
The Graces lead the dance to thee,
The Nymphs to thee their sweetest flowrets bring:
Oh! then it surely cannot winter be.
70
What tho' the bloom of years were fled,
The heats of love all pass'd away?
Yet wisdom could on age new lustre shed,
As a sweet glory gilds the parting day.
The heats of love all pass'd away?
Yet wisdom could on age new lustre shed,
As a sweet glory gilds the parting day.
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