LOVE, thou art best of Human Joys, <br /> Our chiefest Happiness below; <br />All other Pleasures are but Toys, <br />Musick without Thee is but Noise, <br /> And Beauty but an empty Show. <br />Heav'n, who knew best what Man wou'd move, <br /> And raise his Thoughts above the Brute; <br />Said, Let him Be, and let him Love; <br />That must alone his Soul improve, <br /> Howe'er Philosophers dispute. <br /> <br /> <br />II <br /> <br />Quickly, Delia, Learn my Passion, <br /> Lose not Pleasure, to be Proud; <br />Courtship draws on Observation, <br /> And the Whispers of the Croud. <br /> <br />Soon or late you'll hear a Lover, <br /> Nor by Time his Truth can prove; <br />Ages won't a Heart discover, <br /> Trust, and so secure my Love <br /> <br />III <br /> <br />'TIS strange, this Heart within my breast, <br /> Reason opposing, and her Pow'rs, <br />Cannot one gentle Moment rest, <br /> Unless it knows what's done in Yours. <br />In vain I ask it of your Eyes, <br /> Which subt'ly would my Fears controul; <br />For Art has taught them to disguise, <br /> Which Nature made t' explain the Soul. <br /> <br />In vain that Sound, your Voice affords, <br /> Flatters sometimes my easy Mind; <br />But of too vast Extent are Words <br /> In them the Jewel Truth to find. <br /> <br />Then let my fond Enquiries cease, <br /> And so let all my Troubles end: <br />For, sure, that Heart shall ne'er know Peace, <br /> Which on Anothers do's depend.<br /><br />Anne Kingsmill Finch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/three-songs-2/
