TO ALEX. CUNNINGHAM
Ellisland in Nithsdale, July 27th, 1788
I
My godlike friend—nay, do not stare:
You think the praise is odd-like?
But ‘God is Love,’ the saints declare;
Then surely thou art god-like!
II
And is thy ardour still the same,
And kindled still in Anna?
Others may boast a partial flame,
But thou art a volcano!
III
Even Wedlock asks not love beyond
Death's tie-dissolving portal;
But thou, omnipotently fond,
May'st promise love immortal!
IV
Thy wounds such healing powers defy,
Such symptoms dire attend them,
That last great antihectic try—
Marriage perhaps may mend them.
V
Sweet Anna has an air—a grace,
Divine, magnetic, touching!
She takes, she charms—but who can trace
The process of bewitching?
