Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/539

 Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear No other voice than hers can hear, No other wit but hers approve: Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

If she some other youth commend, Though I was once his fondest friend, His instant enemy I prove: Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

When she is absent, I no more Delight in all that pleased before— The clearest spring, or shadiest grove: Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

When fond of power, of beauty vain, Her nets she spread for every swain, I strove to hate, but vainly strove: Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

SAMUEL JOHNSON

1709-1784

450. One-and-Twenty

Long-expected one-and-twenty, Ling'ring year, at length is flown: Pride and pleasure, pomp and plenty, Great *** ****, are now your own.

Loosen'd from the minor's tether, Free to mortgage or to sell, Wild as wind, and light as feather, Bid the sons of thrift farewell.