Verse > Anthologies > William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. > The Book of Georgian Verse
William Stanley Braithwaite, ed.  The Book of Georgian Verse.  1909.
To Fix Her,—’Twere a Task As Vain
By Tobias George Smollett (1721–1771)
TO fix her,—’twere a task as vain
To count the April drops of rain,
To sow in Afric’s barren soil,—
Or tempests hold within a toil.
I know it, friend, she’s light as air,        5
False as the fowler’s artful snare,
Inconstant as the passing wind,
As winter’s dreary frost unkind.
She’s such a miser too, in love,
Its joys she’ll neither share nor prove;        10
Though hundreds of gallants await
From her victorious eyes their fate.
Blushing at such inglorious reign,
I sometimes strive to break her chain;
My reason summon to my aid,        15
Resolved no more to be betray’d.
Ah, friend! ’tis but a short-lived trance,
Dispell’d by one enchanting glance;
She need but look, and I confess
Those looks completely curse, or bless.        20
So soft, so elegant, so fair,
Sure, something more than human’s there;
I must submit, for strife is vain,
’Twas destiny that forged the chain.

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