Classic Poem

How pleasant is Love,
When forbid or unknown;
Was my Passion approv'd,
It would quickly be gone.

It adds to the Charms,
When we steal the Delight;
Why should Love be expos'd?
Since himself has no Sight.

In some Silvan Shade,
Let me sigh for my Swain;
Where none but an Eccho,
Will speak on't again.

Thus silent and soft,
I'll pass the Time on;
And when I grow weary,
I'll make my Love known.