To Miss Owenson, On Reading Her Poem of "Love's Picture," By a Gentleman
And could'st thou, youthful songstress, prove
The pangs, the bliss that wait on love;
While from that careless air of thine,
Thou seem'st to worship at the shrine
Of chill indiff'rence;—yet so well
You paint the boy, that sure his spell
The urchin round thy hearth did steal;
We best express what most we feel.
The pangs, the bliss that wait on love;
While from that careless air of thine,
Thou seem'st to worship at the shrine
Of chill indiff'rence;—yet so well
You paint the boy, that sure his spell
The urchin round thy hearth did steal;
We best express what most we feel.
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