'LOVE'S a pleasure, love's a treasure,
Why the joys of love withstand?'
Alf so pleadeth, Effie heedeth
And—What ails the lily-wand?

Lighter grow her airs and lighter—
Glances she would shun she seeks;
Brighter burn her eyes, and brighter
Burns the scarlet on her cheeks.

Leaps her heart within her; cheerly
Smiles the earth in silence girt;
Dance the stars above, and rarely,
All in concord with her heart.

Redder than the red rose blowing
Sinks she in her woer's arms
Many a mad, mad vow avowing
Melt they in each other's charms.

For a season vanished reason—
Vanished to return and view
Loved and lover—doomed for ever—
Doom'd the spell of love to rue.