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(From Hours of Idleness, 1807)
1. YOU say you love, and yet your eye | |
| No symptom of that love conveys, | |
| You say you love, yet know not why, | |
| Your cheek no sign of love betrays. | |
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2. Ah! did that breast with ardour glow, | 5 |
| With me alone it joy could know, | |
| Or feel with me the listless woe, | |
| Which racks my heart when far from thee. | |
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3. Whene’er we meet my blushes rise, | |
| And mantle through my purpled cheek, | 10 |
| But yet no blush to mine replies, | |
| Nor e’en your eyes your love bespeak. | |
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4. Your voice alone declares your flame, | |
| And though so sweet it breathes my name, | |
| Our passions still are not the same; | 15 |
| Alas! you cannot love like me. | |
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5. For e’en your lip seems steep’d in snow, | |
| And though so oft it meets my kiss, | |
| It burns with no responsive glow, | |
| Nor melts like mine in dewy bliss. | 20 |
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6. Ah! what are words to love like mine, | |
| Though utter’d by a voice like thine, | |
| I still in murmurs must repine, | |
| And think that love can ne’er be true, | |
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7. Which meets me with no joyous sign, | 25 |
| Without a sigh which bids adieu;— | |
| How different is my love from thine, | |
| How deep my grief when leaving you! | |
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8. Your image fills my anxious breast, | |
| Till day declines adown the West, | 30 |
| And when at night I sink to rest, | |
| In dreams your fancied form I view. | |
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9. ’Tis then your breast, no longer cold, | |
| With equal ardour seems to burn, | |
| While close your arms around me fold, | 35 |
| Your lips my kiss with warmth return. | |
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10. Ah! would these joyous moments last; | |
| Vain HOPE! the gay delusion’s past, | |
| That voice!—ah! no, ’tis but the blast, | |
| Which echoes through the neighbouring grove. | 40 |
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11. But when awake, your lips I seek, | |
| And clasp enraptured all your charms, | |
| So chill’s the pressure of your cheek, | |
| I fold a statue in my arms. | |
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12. If thus, when to my heart embraced, | 45 |
| No pleasure in your eyes is traced; | |
| You may be prudent, fair, and chaste, | |
| But ah! my girl, you do not love. | |
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