Love

What fond, delicious ecstasy does early love impart!
Resistless, as a spring-tide sea, it flows into the heart,
Pervading with its living wave the bosom's inmost core,
That thrills with many a gentle hope it never felt before.

And o'er the stripling's glowing heart, extending far and wide,
Through passion's troubled realm does Love with angel sway preside;
And smiles are shed that cast a light o'er many a future year,
And whispers soft are conjured up of lips that are not near.

With promises of fairyland this daylight world teems,
And sleep comes with forgetfulness or fraught with lovely dreams;
And there is magic in the touch, and music in the sigh,
And, far more eloquent than speech, a language in the eye.

And hope the constant bosom cheers with prospects ever new;
But if the favour'd one prove false, oh! who can then be true?
Our fond illusions disappear, like slumber's shadowy train,
And we ne'er recall those vanish'd hopes, nor feel that love again.