A Song.
These shades were made for Love alone,--
Here only smiles and kisses sweet
Shall play around his flow'ry throne,
And doves shall sentinel the seat.
Come, Delia! 'tis a genial day;
It bids us to his bow'r repair:--
"But what will little Cupid say?"--
"Say! sweet?--why, give a welcome there."
There not a tell-tale beam shall peep
Upon thy beauty's rich display,--
There not a breeze shall dare to sweep
The leaves, to whisper what we say.
Here only smiles and kisses sweet
Shall play around his flow'ry throne,
And doves shall sentinel the seat.
Come, Delia! 'tis a genial day;
It bids us to his bow'r repair:--
"But what will little Cupid say?"--
"Say! sweet?--why, give a welcome there."
There not a tell-tale beam shall peep
Upon thy beauty's rich display,--
There not a breeze shall dare to sweep
The leaves, to whisper what we say.
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