 | Poetical Sketches |  |
SONG I.
WILD wing my notes, fierce passions urge the strain;
Strong flame the fires that kindle in my soul;
I strike the wiery harp, nor will refrain;
Mad is despair, and scorns each feeble rein,
Feelings like mine no virtue can control.
Stifled, th' inflated heart with pain respires,
My crimson veins with struggling blood are press'd,
My cheeks are flush'd with passion's transient fires;
My brain with agonies distracted flies,
Till the fierce streams burst from my burning eyes,
And drowning torrents cool my panting breast.
Strong flame the fires that kindle in my soul;
I strike the wiery harp, nor will refrain;
Mad is despair, and scorns each feeble rein,
Feelings like mine no virtue can control.
Stifled, th' inflated heart with pain respires,
My crimson veins with struggling blood are press'd,
My cheeks are flush'd with passion's transient fires;
My brain with agonies distracted flies,
Till the fierce streams burst from my burning eyes,
And drowning torrents cool my panting breast.
| Poetical Sketches | |