The lovely Delia smiles again!
That killing frown has left her brow;
Can she forgive my jealous pain,
And give me back my angry vow?

Love is an April's doubtful day;
Awhile we see the tempest lower,
Anon the radiant heaven survey,
And quite forget the flitting shower.

The flowers, that hung their languid head,
Are burnish'd by the transient rains;
The vines their wonted tendrils spread,
And double verdure gilds the plains.

The sprightly birds, that droop'd no less
Beneath the power of rain and wind,
In every raptured note express
The joy I feel-when thou art kind.