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?