Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1823.pdf/95



Thine, too, other gifts above, Every sign and shape of love, Its first smile, and its first sigh, Its hope, its despondency, Its joy, its sorrow, all belong To thy so delicious song. Fair, vowed to thee, If a lute like mine may be Offered at thy myrtle shrine, Lute and heart and song are thine. Broken be my treasured lute, Be its every number mute, Ere a single chord should waken, By thee or by Love forsaken. Gentlest one, I bow to thee, Rose-lipp'd queen of poesy!L.E.L.