YOU tell me that you truly love: <br />Ah! know you well what love does mean? <br />Does neither whim nor fancy move <br />The rapture of your transient dream? <br /> <br />Tell me, when absent do you think <br />O'er ev'ry look and ev'ry sigh? <br />Do you in melancholy sink, <br />And hope and doubt you know not why? <br /> <br />When present, do you die to say <br />How much you love, yet fear to tell? <br />Does her breath melt your soul away? <br />A touch, your nerves with transport swell? <br /> <br />Or do you faint with sweet excess <br />Of pleasure rising into pain, <br />When hoping you may e'er possess <br />The object you aspire to gain? <br /> <br />The charms of every other fair <br />With coldness could you learn to view? <br />Fondly unchang'd to her repair, <br />With transports ever young and new? <br /> <br />Could you, for her, fame, wealth despise? <br />In poverty and toil feel blest? <br />Drink sweet delusion from her eyes, <br />Or smile at ruin on her breast? <br /> <br />And tell me, at her loss or hate, <br />Would death your only refuge prove? <br />Ah! if in aught you hesitate, <br />Coward! you dare not say you love.<br /><br />Charlotte Dacre<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-him-who-says-he-loves/
