Love, Thou Gayest Fancy-Weaver.

    Love, thou gayest fancy-weaver,
    Heart-betrayer, soul-deceiver,
    Come with all thy clinging kisses;
    Bringing all thy beaming blisses;
    It may serve the cynic's parts,
        If he curse and if he scout thee,
    But, O, where were gentle hearts,
        If they had to live without thee!

    Weave the spells of thy beguiling
    'Round and 'round me with thy smiling,
    Till the ashen cheek is beaming,
    And the faded eye is gleaming;
    Millions may endure the fight
        In the battle vain to end thee,
    But when taste they thy delight
        They will serve thee and defend thee.

    Bring thy little winsome graces
    And the sweets of glad embraces,
    Till the pleasures all are dancing
    Into mazy whirls entrancing;
    It may please the icy breast
        To despise thee and distress thee,
    But the burning hearts find rest
        When they bless thee and caress thee.

    Send thy gladness, laughing rover,
    All my sorrows o'er and over,
    Till the strains of happy pleasure
    Mingle in melodious measure;
    It may give a transient glee
        To condemn thy ways and sever,
    But the sweets of melody
        Thou wilt murmur on forever.

    Bind my heart in silken chaining,
    Till from thee is none remaining;
    Clothe my soul in glad completeness
    Of thy happiness and sweetness;
    When the times are true, the soul
        May not hunger for thy gladness,
    But when surging sorrows roll
        Thou alone shall banish sadness.