To Delia

Let others heap on heaps their useless ore,
And view with sparkling eyes th' increasing store;
Let others toil, with ceaseless care, to gain
The rich productions of the boundless plain,
And own, each night passed sleepless by their fears,
That wealth has for its joys a thousand cares;
For Fortune's fickle smiles let others pine;
Delia, thy smile, thy witching smile, be mine
Content, though poor, each easy idle day,
Cheered by that smile, steals unperceived away
With thy fond arm in mine, when Spring's soft power
First bursts the bud of every blushing flower,
Then let me guide thy light steps o'er the green,
And show thee all the beauties of the scene;
Or when the sultry suns of Summer pour
A warmer ray, then many a rapturous hour
Awaits us, where the beech-tree's arching shade
Has formed a secret bower for lovers made:
That beech, whose tender rind didst first impart
To Delia the soft secret of my heart —
Carved on whose trunk the faithful vows appear
Which Delia heard not with disdainful ear;
There, by the riv'let's side, we'll careless lay,
And think how transient is a lover's day;
There, will thy swain with fondest zeal prepare
A flowery garland for thy tangled hair;
And thou, with playful hand, a wreath shall join,
And round thy poet's brow thy gift entwine.
With Autumn's ripened fruit when every tree
And shrub hangs loaded, Delia, then for thee
Up to each tall tree's topmost bough I'll spring,
And the full basket to our cottage bring.
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