TO CLOE.

I could resign that eye of blue.

How e'er its splendor used to thrill me;

And even that cheek of roseate hue,—

To lose it, Cloe, scarce would kill me.

That snowy neck I ne'er should miss,

However much I've raved about it;

And sweetly as that lip can kiss,

I think I could exist without it.

In short, so well I've learned to fast,

That, sooth my love, I know not whether

I might not bring myself at last,

To — do without you altogether.