Her favour is a favour still,
And I must ever grateful be.
Yet I'm content, and full of joy,
If she'll but grant her smile so sweet.
Or if at table she'll employ,
To pillow hers, her lover's feet;
Give me the apple that she bit,
The glass from which she drank, bestow,
And when my kiss so orders it,
Her bosom, veiled till then, will show.
And when she wills of love to speak,
In fond and silent hours of bliss,
Words from her mouth are all I seek,
Nought else I crave,—not e'en a kiss.
With what a soul her mind is fraught,
Wreathed round with charms unceasingly!
She's perfect,—and she fails in nought
Save in her deigning to love me.
My reverence throws me at her feet,
My longing throws me on her breast;
This, youth, is rapture true and sweet;
Be wise, thus seeking to be blest.
When death shall take thee from her side,
To join th' angelic choir above,
In heaven's bright mansions to abide,—
No diff'rence at the change thou'lt prove.
MAIDEN WISHES.
What pleasure to me
A bridegroom would be!
When married we are,
