Samuel Woodworth (1784–1842)

LOVE’S eyes are so enchanting,

Bright, smiling, soft and granting,

Pulses play at every ray,

And hearts at every glance are panting.

Before the beamy eye of morn

We view the clouds of night receding;

So tender glances banish scorn,

For who can frown while Love is pleading?

Love’s eyes are so enchanting, &c.

No bandage can those eyes conceal,

Though bards in fabled tales rehearse it;

For if we wore a mask of steel,

Affection’s ardent gaze would pierce it.

Love’s eyes are so enchanting, &c.

Beware, then, lest some artful elf

The infant’s smiles and armor borrow,

To win a throb of joy for self,

And give his victims years of sorrow.

Love’s eyes are so enchanting, &c.