Poems (1791) | ||
The SILENT FAIR.
BALLAD V.
I
From all her fair loquacious kind,So different is my Rosalind,
That not one accent can I gain
To crown my hopes, or sooth my pain.
II
Ye lovers, who can construe sighs,And are the interpreters of eyes,
To language all her looks translate,
And in her gestures read my fate.
III
And if in them you chance to findAught that is gentle, aught that's kind,
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And all the littleness of state.
IV
All thoughts of grandeur I'll despise,Which from dependence take their rise;
To serve her shall be my employ,
And love's sweet agony my joy.
Poems (1791) | ||