Thou often art so strange and coy
When 'mongst man's busy haunts we move,

Thy coldness puts to flight my joy.
But soon as night and silence round us reign,
I know thee by thy kisses sweet again!

1789.*
-----
RECIPROCAL.

MY mistress, where sits she?

What is it that charms?
The absent she's rocking,

Held fast in her arms.

In pretty cage prison'd

She holds a bird still;
Yet lets him fly from her,

Whenever he will.

He pecks at her finger,

And pecks at her lips,
And hovers and flutters,