TO AMANDA.
Sweet lady, wilt thou think of me
When Music's tones are round thee thrilling
With a soft gushing melody,
Thy gentle heart with rapture filling?
O let my voice, like that loved strain,
Touch in thy heart the chords of feeling,
Like long-hushed music, breathed again
By zephyrs, o'er a wind-harp stealing.
When Music's tones are round thee thrilling
With a soft gushing melody,
Thy gentle heart with rapture filling?
O let my voice, like that loved strain,
Touch in thy heart the chords of feeling,
Like long-hushed music, breathed again
By zephyrs, o'er a wind-harp stealing.
Sweet lady, wilt thou think of me
When Friendship's flowers are round thee wreathing,
And Love's delicious flattery
Within thy ear is softly breathing?
O let my friendship in the wreath,
Though but a bud amid the flowers,
Its sweetest fragrance round thee breathe—
'T will serve to soothe thy weary hours.
When Friendship's flowers are round thee wreathing,
And Love's delicious flattery
Within thy ear is softly breathing?
O let my friendship in the wreath,
Though but a bud amid the flowers,
Its sweetest fragrance round thee breathe—
'T will serve to soothe thy weary hours.
Sweet lady, wilt thou think of me?
Ah, should we e'er by fate be parted,
Wilt thou embalm my memory,
The memory of the loving-hearted!
Ah, should we e'er by fate be parted,
Wilt thou embalm my memory,
The memory of the loving-hearted!
