The Melancholy Lover to his Mistress
Leigh Hunt
1784 to 1859
Oh think not that the pensive air,
That shades thy lover's mien.
Betrays a secret, silent care
Within this heart serene;
Bliss, just like grief, will sometimes start
In tear-drops to the eye;
And what but bliss can reach this heart,
Sweet girl, when thou art by?
Have you not felt, when all the heart
Is big with love's excess,
A restless longing to impart
The transport you possess?
'Tis this that o'er my gazing eyes
Thus throws a mournful hue;
'Tis this returns in quiv'ring sighs
The love that smiles in you.
Leigh Hunt's The Melancholy Lover to his Mistress
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