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And seek with her a brighter glory

Than ever fill'd the page of story.

ill my service is repaid,

For Love has planted in my breast

A pang that will not give me rest—

Nor heeds the mischief he has made.

senses are by passion driven,

On to the very gates of heaven;

Delight is handmaid to desire,

My eyes are bright with fire

Whose rays out-pour'd upon my heart

A sense of blessedness impart.

then love strengthens while it grows,

And transport's fountain overflows,

My heart is like a stream of pleasure

That knows no ebb and knows no measure,

Which love pours out in eager joy—

Love—source of rapture—and annoy—

To which I turn me fond and true,

As opening roses to the dew.