If I could love, I'd find me out
A roguish, laughing eye,
A cheek to blush, a lip to pout,
A pure, kind heart, to sigh.

A fairy hand, to touch and glance,
From note to note with glee,
A fairy foot to trip the dance
And lead it down with me.

A soul to share in all my fun,
And feel for all my woes,
And as our little life should run
To take it as it goes.

And O, when follies all have fled
And solemn thoughts shall rise,
To soothe me on my dying bed
And meet me in the skies.

Such thoughts are vain, too vain —yet why
Should you such thoughts reprove —
O pity, pity me, for I
Am poor, and cannot love.