Classic Poem

O Love! by thy almighty Pow'r,
Transform me to that new-blown Flow'r
Which, fram'd for Sweetness and Delight,
Attracts my lov'd Almeria's Sight.
Behold, in vernal Beauty drest,
It decks the lovely Virgin's Breast;
Whence it superior Grace assumes,
And with unrival'd Beauty blooms.

Why am I not that gentle Air,
Which flutters, fans, and cools the Fair!
Too happy Zephyr! balmy Gale!
That Fragrance from her Breath you steal;
See, while your Pain you softly sigh,
And on her snowy Bosom die;
Thy Goddess, Flora , jealous grows,
And with divine Resentment glows.

Why am I not that Bird, whose Note,
Sweet warbling in his liquid Throat,
Bids ev'ry Grove and Vale rejoice;
His tender, soft, melodious Voice,
Nightly with his enchanting Strain,
Does, in the Woods, my Love detain,
Till, list'ning, she forgets to fear
The Dangers that may threaten there.

When Phoebus darts direct his Beams,
Almeria seeks the cooling Streams:
The River-god with Pride receives
Almeria to his azure Waves;
With murm'ring Joy they round her move,
And take her for the Queen of Love.
Ye Gods! were I that happy Stream!
How should my fierce, my rapid Flame.

Pardon, thou bright, thou matchless Fair!
The bold Presumption of my Pray'r.
Gladly would I my Being change,
Gladly from Form to Form I'd range;
Might I, in any Shape, delight,
Almeria's Sense, or please her Sight;
Or might those Variations prove
The Truth of my unaltered Love.