A SONG.These shades were made for Love alone,—Here only smiles and kisses sweetShall play around his flow’ry throne,And doves shall sentinel the seat.Come, Delia! ’tis a genial day;It bids us to his bow’r repair:—“But what will little Cupid say?”—“Say! sweet?—why, give a welcome there.”There not a tell-tale beam shall peepUpon thy beauty’s rich display,—There not a breeze shall dare to sweepThe leaves, to whisper what we say.
These shades were made for Love alone,—Here only smiles and kisses sweetShall play around his flow’ry throne,And doves shall sentinel the seat.Come, Delia! ’tis a genial day;It bids us to his bow’r repair:—“But what will little Cupid say?”—“Say! sweet?—why, give a welcome there.”There not a tell-tale beam shall peepUpon thy beauty’s rich display,—There not a breeze shall dare to sweepThe leaves, to whisper what we say.