The fatal hours are wondrous near, <br />That from these fountains bear my dear; <br />A little space is given; in vain <br />She robs my sight, and shuns the plain. <br /> <br />A little space, for me to prove <br />My boundless flame, my endless love; <br />And, like the train of vulgar hours, <br />Invidious Time that space devours. <br /> <br />Near yonder beech is Delia's way, <br />On that I gaze the livelong day; <br />No eastern monarch's dazzling pride <br />Should draw my longing eyes aside. <br /> <br />The chief that knows of succours nigh, <br />And sees his mangled legions die, <br />Casts not a more impatient glance <br />To see the loitering aids advance. <br /> <br />Not more the schoolboy, that expires <br />Far from his native home, requires <br />To see some friend's familiar face, <br />Or meet a parent's last embrace- <br /> <br />She comes-but, ah! what crowds of beaus <br />In radiant bands my fair enclose! <br />Oh! better hadst thou shunn'd the green; <br />Oh, Delia! better far unseen. <br /> <br />Methinks, by all my tender fears, <br />By all my sighs, by all my tears, <br />I might from torture now be free- <br />'Tis more than death to part from thee!<br /><br />William Shenstone<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-ix-the-fatal-hours-are-wondrous-near/
