Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/448



, turn from me those radiant eyes, With love's dark lightning beaming, Or veil the power that in them lies To set the young heart dreaming! Oh, dim their fire, or look no more, For sure 'tis wayward folly To make a spirit, gay before, To droop with melancholy!

Ungen'rous victor! not in vain Thy wild wish to subdue me— To woo once more thy glance I'm fain, Even should that glance undo me: What pity that thy lips of rose So fitted for heart healing, Should not, with tenderest kisses, close The wounds thine eyes are dealing!