Classic Poem

Thrice blest! sweet wanderer of the vale,
Who in my Delia's chaplet strays,
Could I like thee 'midst Lilys pale
For one short moment tune my Lays.

Oh! as in some sequester'd Bower
Round her you sing soft Lullabies,
Tell her I pine like that same flower
That droops, forsaken — fades, and dies!