Song, 1744

THE lovely Delia smiles again!
That killing frown has left her brow;
Can she forgive my jealous pain,
And give me back my angry vow?

Love is an April's doubtful day;
A while we see the tempest low'r,
Anon the radiant heav'n survey,
And quite forget the flitting show'r.

The flow'rs, that hung their languid head,
Are burnish'd by the transient rains;
The vines their wonted tendrils spread,
And double verdure gilds the plains.

The sprightly birds, that droop'd no less
Beneath the pow'r of rain and wind,
In ev'ry raptur'd note express
The joy I feel—when thou art kind.