FROM these lone shades and ever-gloomy bowers, The pangs of absence to an amorous heart! O then, by that mysterious art, divine Conceive, my Love, what thou wouldst say to met |
FROM these lone shades and ever-gloomy bowers, The pangs of absence to an amorous heart! O then, by that mysterious art, divine Conceive, my Love, what thou wouldst say to met |