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 | The Works of Thomas Love Peacock |  |
When frost-crown'd Winter binds the earth in chains,
And pours his snow-storms on the whit'ning plains,
Then shall the pow'r of constant Love be found,
To chase the deep'ning gloom that low'rs around.
Beside the cheerful fire's familiar blaze,
Shall Memory trace the deeds of long-past days;
Of those propitious hours when first I strove
To win thy gentle ear with tales of love,
When, while thy angel-blushes half-conceal'd
The kind consent thy bashful smiles reveal'd,
From those bright eyes a soft expression stole,
That spoke the silent language of the soul.
And pours his snow-storms on the whit'ning plains,
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To chase the deep'ning gloom that low'rs around.
Beside the cheerful fire's familiar blaze,
Shall Memory trace the deeds of long-past days;
Of those propitious hours when first I strove
To win thy gentle ear with tales of love,
When, while thy angel-blushes half-conceal'd
The kind consent thy bashful smiles reveal'd,
From those bright eyes a soft expression stole,
That spoke the silent language of the soul.
| The Works of Thomas Love Peacock | |