So full my thoughts are of thee, that I swear
All else is hateful to my troubled soul;
How thou hast o'er me gained such vast control,
How charmed my stubborn spirit, is most rare!
Sure thou hast mingled philtres in my bowl,
Or what thine high enchantedarts declare
Fearless of blame — for truth I will not care
(So charms the witchery), whether fair or foul.
Yet well my lovesick mind thine arts can tell;
No magic potions gav'st thou, save what I
Drank from those lustrous eyes when they did dwell
With dying fondness on me — or thy sigh
Which sent its perfumed poison to my brain.
Thus known thy spells, thou bland seducer, see —
Come practice them again, and oh! again;
Spellbound I am , and spellbound wish to be.