Page:Blackbird.pdf/6

 'Twould there have bloom'd lovely for many an hour,
 * And how soon it will perish with me.

Already its butiful texture decays,
 * Already it fades on my sight.

'Tis thus that chill langour to often o'erpays
 * The moments of trancient delight

When eagerly pressing enjoyments too near,
 * Its blossoms we gather in haste:

How oft thus we mourn with a penitent ear,
 * Of the joys which we lavished in waste.

The elegant flower had I left it at rest
 * Might still have delighted my eyes

But plucked prematurely and placed in my breast,
 * It languishes withers and dies.

A fond youth serenaded his love, Who sleeping,—"Love never should sleep!" Her father was peeping above,—
 * "O, fathers you never should peep;

To his daughters balcony he brought
 * Her monkey, in muslins arrayed