TO MISS.......

I'll ask the sylph who round thee flies,

And in thy breath his pinion dips,

Who suns him in thy radiant eyes,

And faints upon thy sighing lips:

I'll ask him where's the veil of sleep

That used to shade thy looks of light;

And why those eyes their vigil keep

When other suns are sunk in night?

And I will say — her angel breast

Has never throbbed with guilty sting;

Her bosom is the sweetest nest

Where Slumber could repose his wing!

And I will say — her cheeks that flush,

Like vernal roses in the sun,

Have ne'er by shame been taught to blush,

Except for what her eyes have done!