REGRET
As night deports the uncouth day's satire
And sets a spark of romance to my breast,
An image of the one whom I think best
Begins to kindle flames of my desire.
Her voice is sweeter than the sweetest lyre,
No music soothes the heart as well as she,
No potion grants a better fantasy
Than she who stirs my heart into a fire.
And yet 'tis only dream! I
must be fool
To waste away in selfish thought.
What tear
Could bring us close again, what tool
Could carve her shape and make appear
That priceless smile, what wish could give it breath,
And die each night a sweeter death?
