 | [Poems by Drake in] The life and works of Joseph Rodman Drake (1795-1820) |  |
244
To Mary
Dear Mary, pray how can I prattle
Of the charms of that eloquent eye,
When its beams, though they offer me battle,
Remain so provokingly shy?
Oh! let but their languishing fire,
With mine all voluptuously meet,
And the spirit that breathes in my lyre,
Shall pour out its soul at your feet.
Of the charms of that eloquent eye,
When its beams, though they offer me battle,
Remain so provokingly shy?
Oh! let but their languishing fire,
With mine all voluptuously meet,
And the spirit that breathes in my lyre,
Shall pour out its soul at your feet.
And how can I picture the pleasures,
That hang on those rubies divine,
While you, covetous, hoard up their treasures,
Nor e'er let them linger on mine?
From enjoyment's full bowl I must sip, love,
Emotion too warm to express,
For cold is the passionless lip, love,
That meets with no mutual caress.
That hang on those rubies divine,
While you, covetous, hoard up their treasures,
Nor e'er let them linger on mine?
From enjoyment's full bowl I must sip, love,
Emotion too warm to express,
For cold is the passionless lip, love,
That meets with no mutual caress.
Yon harp of the heavens still slumbers,
Till kissed by the breeze from above,
And the impulse that wakens my numbers,
Must come from the lips that I love.
Till kissed by the breeze from above,
And the impulse that wakens my numbers,
Must come from the lips that I love.
| [Poems by Drake in] The life and works of Joseph Rodman Drake (1795-1820) | |