"LOVE, THOU GAYEST FANCY-WEAVER."


Love, thou gayest fancy-weaver,
Heart-betrayer, soul-deceiver,
Come with all thy clinging kisses;
Bringing all thy beaming blisses;
It may serve the cynic's parts,
If he curse and if he scout thee,
But, O, where were gentle hearts,
If they had to live without thee!

Weave the spells of thy beguiling
'Round and 'round me with thy smiling,
Till the ashen cheek is beaming,
And the faded eye is gleaming;
Millions may endure the fight
In the battle vain to end thee,
But when taste they thy delight
They will serve thee and defend thee.

Bring thy little winsome graces
And the sweets of glad embraces,
Till the pleasures all are dancing
Into mazy whirls entrancing;
It may please the icy breast
To despise thee and distress thee,
But the burning hearts find rest
When they bless thee and caress thee.