Classic Poem

And must I, must I ever part
From her I held so dear?
And separate my constant heart
From all it valu'd here?

As soon ye might of life deprive,
As from my fair remove;
Ah! rather bid me cease to live,
Than bid me cease to love.

Thine, Delia, be a happier lot,
Though mine be care and pain!
How willingly I'd be forgot
For some more worthy swain.

Ne'er may a hapless lover's sighs
Be heard to grate thy ear,
And ne'er the lustre of thy eyes
Be fully'd with a tear!

For me, alas! my sole delight
Is lost in losing thee;
Whom else can I, depriv'd thy sight,
With equal pleasure see?

Farewel, my Delia, receive
A lover's last adieu!
May fortune one more worthy give,
And, if it can, more true!

'Midst ev'ry future care, and pain,
Still present to my heart
Thy lov'd idea shall remain,
Till death shall bid it part:

And even then my closing eyes
Shall seem thy form to see;
The latest thoughts within that rise,
Shall fondly dwell on thee.