| |
| THAT I love thee, charming maid, I a thousand times have said, | |
| And a thousand times more I have sworn it, | |
| But ’t is easy to be seen in the coldness of your mien | |
| That you doubt my affection—or scorn it. | |
| Ah me! | 5 |
| |
| Not a single grain of sense is in the whole of these pretences | |
| For rejecting your lover’s petitions; | |
| Had I windows in my bosom, O, how gladly I’ d expose ’em, | |
| To undo your fantastic suspicions! | |
| Ah me! | 10 |
| |
| You repeat I ’ve known you long, and you hint I do you wrong, | |
| In beginning so late to pursue ye; | |
| But ’t is folly to look glum because people did not come | |
| Up the stairs of your nursery to woo ye. | |
| Ah me! | 15 |
| |
| In a grapery one walks without looking at the stalks, | |
| While the bunches are green that they ’re bearing: | |
| All the pretty little leaves that are dangling at the eaves | |
| Scarce attract e’en a moment of staring. | |
| Ah me! | 20 |
| |
| But when time has swelled the grapes to a richer style of shapes, | |
| And the sun has lent warmth to their blushes, | |
| Then to cheer us and to gladden, to chant us and to madden, | |
| Is the ripe ruddy glory that rushes. | |
| Ah me! | 25 |
| |
| O, ’t is then that mortals pant while they gaze on Bacchus’ plant.— | |
| O, ’t is then,—will my simile serve ye? | |
| Should a damsel fair repine, though neglected like a vine? | |
| Both erelong shall turn heads topsy-turvy. | |
| Ah me! | 30 |
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