When I swore that I lov'd you, and lov'd you to madness,
My words they were broken, my eyes overflow'd;
When you own'd that you lov'd, my heart bounded with gladness,
I felt of my bliss as the bliss of a god.

Again what I felt, when in languishing posture
You heard from another the tale that he loved,
'Twas a pang so sublim'd, of such exquisite torture,
As tyrants inflict not, nor victims have prov'd.

You say, with a sigh and a tear, it was folly,
Enough, my sweet ****, no more I despair,
That sigh of confession has chas'd melancholy,
That tear of contrition has wash'd away care.

On those eyes let me gaze, on that breast let me languish,
Till utterance is faint, and the fire of the eye
Can alone speak the passion that rises to anguish,
That throbs at the heart, and exhales in a sigh.

Be blest then to-day, come what may come to-morrow,
Exchang'd be our sighs, let our tears overflow;
For sighs are not always the children of sorrow,
And tears are the tribute to rapture we owe.