Think not, while fairer nymphs invite <br />Thy feet, dear youth, to Pleasure's bowers, <br />My faded form shall meet thy sight, <br />And cloud my Henry's smiling hours. <br /> <br />Thou art the world's delighted guest, <br />And all that pride desires is thine; <br />Then I'll not wound thy generous breast, <br />By numbering o'er the woes of mine. <br /> <br />I will not say how well, how long <br />This faithful heart has sighed for thee; <br />But leave thee happier nymphs among, <br />Content if thou contented be. <br /> <br />But, Henry, should Misfortune's hand <br />Bid all thy youth's fond triumphs fly, <br />The crimson from thy lip command, <br />And force the lustre from thine eye,.... <br /> <br />Then, thoughtless of my own distress, <br />I'll haste thy comforter to prove; <br />And Henry shall my friendship bless, <br />Although, alas! he scorns my love.<br /><br />Amelia Opie<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-henry/
