To a Lady Who Desired Some Verses at Parting

Oh! do not ask the Muse to show
Or how we met, or how we part:
The bliss, the pain, too well I know,
That seize in turn this faithful heart.
That meeting--it was tumult all--
The eye was pleased, the soul was glad;
But thus to memory I recall,
And feel the parting doubly sad.

Yes, it was pleasant so to meet
For us, who fear'd to meet no more,
When every passing hour was sweet--
Sweeter, we thought, than all before.
When eye from eye new meanings steal,
When hearts approach, and thoughts unite--
Then is, indeed, the time to feel,
But, Laura! not a time to write.

And when at length compell'd to part,
When fear is strong, and fancy weak;
When in some distant good the heart
For present ease is forced to seek;
When hurried spirits fall and rise,
As on the changing views we dwell--
How vainly then the sufferer tries
In studied verse his pains to tell!

Time brings, indeed, his slow relief,
In whom the passions live and die;
He gives the bright'ning smile to grief,
And his the soft consoling sigh.
Till then, we vainly wish the power
To paint the grief, or use the pen;
But distant far that quiet hour--
And I must feel and grieve till then.