STILL the question I must parry, Still a wayward truant prove: Where I love, I must not marry; Where I marry, cannot love. Were she fairest of creation, With the least presuming mind: Learned without affectation; Not deceitful, yet refined; Wise enough, but never rigid; Gay, but not too lightly free; Chaste as snow, and yet not frigid; Warm, yet satisfied with me: Were she all this ten times over, All that Heaven to earth allows, I should be too much her lover Ever to become her spouse. Love will never bear enslaving; Summer garments suit him best; Bliss itself is not worth having, If we're by compulsion blest. |