Portrait of a Young Woman

Sweet remembrance! Hour of bliss
    When we met, but now the more
I mourn, as when the sailor is
    Star-less, distant far from shore.

Now tongue, tho' 'tis with grief, relate
    How love deceiv'd me of my joy;
Display the unaccustom'd cheat,
    But praise the nymph, and thank the boy.

It was when the declining sun
    Beheld another sun arise;
And there were actions should be done,
    No talking, only with the eyes.

But I tormented by the fire
    That burnt within, was overcome:
Thus when to speak we most desire
    The more we find we must be dumb.