FAIR the face of orient day,
Fair the tints of opning rose;
But fairer still my Delia dawns,
More lovely far her beauty shows.
Sweet the larks wild warbled lay,
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear;
But, Delia, more delightful still,
Steal thine accents on mine ear.
The flower-enamourd busy bee
The rosy banquet loves to sip;
Sweet the streamlets limpid lapse
To the sun-brownd Arabs lip.
But, Delia, on thy balmy lips
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove;
O let me steal one liquid kiss,
For Oh! my soul is parchd with love.
