Poem for February 13, 2034

THINE am I, my faithful Fair,

Thine, my lovely Nancy;

Ev’ry pulse along my veins,

Ev’ry roving fancy.

To thy bosom lay my heart,

There to throb and languish;

Tho’ despair had wrung its core,

That would heal its anguish.

Take away those rosy lips,

Rich with balmy treasure;

Turn away thine eyes of love,

Lest I die with pleasure!

What is life when wanting Love?

Night without a morning:

Love’s the cloudless summer sun,

Nature gay adorning.