What man dare say that he is quite immune
From charms and spells that ev'ry girl possesses ?
A budding love is like the warmth of June,
That lulls and dulls his senses ere he guesses;
Yet who should seek to fly from such attack?
Though stricken sore, I hold my charmer blameless;
My truant heart I would not summon back,
I leave it in the care of one who's nameless.
He jests at scars who never felt the blow
That comes when love first smites and sends him reeling;
The stinging arrow speeds and brings him low,
While pain and pleasure blend in that new feeling.
I care not if the wound will never heal;
My weakness I proclaim in manner shameless;
I'll never see her more and yet I feel,
I'll love thro' all the years the one who's nameless.
