MY godlike friendnay, do not stare,
You think the phrase is odd-like;
But God is love, the saints declare,
Then surely thou art god-like.
And is thy ardour still the same?
And kindled still at ANNA?
Others may boast a partial flame,
But thou art a volcano!
Evn Wedlock asks not love beyond
Deaths tie-dissolving portal;
But thou, omnipotently fond,
Mayst promise love immortal!
Thy wounds such healing powers defy,
Such symptoms dire attend them,
That last great antihectic try
MARRIAGE perhaps may mend them.
Sweet Anna has an air-a grace,
Divine, magnetic, touching:
She talks, she charms-but who can trace
The process of bewitching? · · · · · ·
