II. TO * * * * * *
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ad I a man's fair form, then might my sighsBe echoed swiftly through that ivory shell,Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so wellWould passion arm me for the enterprize:But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies;No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell;I am no happy shepherd of the dellWhose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes;Yet must I dote upon thee,--call thee sweet.Sweeter by far than Hybla's honied rosesWhen steep'd in dew rich to intoxication.Ah! I will taste that dew, for me 'tis meet,And when the moon her pallid face discloses,I'll gather some by spells, and incantation.
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