Ode to Fanny

Physician Nature! let my spirit blood!
O ease my heart of verse and let me rest ;
Throw me upon thy Tripod, till the flood
Of stifling numbers ebbs from my full breast.
A theme ! a theme ! great nature ! give a theme ;
Let me begin my dream.
I come — I see thee, as thou standest there,
Beckon me not into the wintry air.

Ah ! dearest love, sweet home of all my fears,
And hopes, and joys, and panting miseries, —
To-night, if I may guess, thy beauty wears
A smile of such delight,
As brilliant and as bright,
As when with ravished, aching, vassal eyes,
Lost in soft amaze,
I gaze, I gaze !

Who now, with greedy looks, eats up my feast?
What stare outfaces now my silver moon!
Ah ! keep that hand unravished at the least ;
Let, let, the amorous burn —
But, pr'ythee, do not turn
The current of your heart from me so soon.
O ! save, in charity,
The quickest pulse for me.

Save it for me, sweet love! though music breathe
Voluptuous visions into the warm air;
Though swimming through the dance's dangerous wreath,
Be like an April day,
Smiling and cold and gay,
A temperate lilly, temperate as fair ;
Then, Heaven! there will be
A warmer June for me.

Why, this — you'll say, my Fanny! is not true :
Put your soft hand upon your snowy side,
Where the heart beats : confess — 'tis nothing new —
Must not a woman be
A feather on the sea,
Sway'd to and fro by every wind and tide?
Of as uncertain speed
As blow-ball from the mead?

I know it — and to know it is despair
To one who loves you as I love, sweet Fanny!
Whose heart goes fluttering for you every where,
Nor, when away you roam,
Dare keep its wretched home,
Love, love alone, his pains severe and many:
Then, loveliest ! keep me free,
From torturing jealousy.

Ah ! if you prize my subdued soul above
The poor, the fading, brief, pride of an hour;
Let none profane my Holy See of love,
Or with a rude hand break
The sacramental cake:
Let none else touch the just new-budded flower ;
If not — may my eyes close,
Love! on their lost repose.