Yes, these are the scenes where with Iris I stray'd, <br />But short was her sway for so lovely a maid! <br />In the bloom of her youth to a cloister she run, <br />In the bloom of her graces too fair for a nun! <br />Ill-grounded, no doubt, a devotion must prove, <br />So fatal to beauty, so killing to love! <br /> <br />Yes, these are the meadows, the shrubs, and the plains, <br />Once the scene of my pleasures, the scene of my pains; <br />How many soft moments I spent in this grove! <br />How fair was my nymph! and how fervent my love! <br />Be still though, my Heart! thine emotion give o'er; <br />Remember, the season of love is no more. <br /> <br />With her how I stray'd amid fountains and bowers <br />Or loiter'd behind, and collected the flowers! <br />Then breathless with ardour my fair one pursued, <br />And to think with what kindness my garland she view'd! <br />But be still, my fond Heart! this emotion give o'er; <br />Fain wouldst thou forget thou must love her no more.<br /><br />William Shenstone<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-xviii-imitated-from-the-french/
