TO MISS B*****S by ROYALL TYLER

THINK not, fair lady, that I fly
To shun a face so dear: --
O I could sit, and look, and sigh;
But 'tis thy frown I fear.

Sweet is that throb, which swells the breast,
When Love and Hope are there;
But Love, without that angel-guest,
Is anguish and despair.

And would it not in me be vain,
To hope for such a prize?
To think that I, of all my train,
Alone, should please thine eyes?

Ah yes, it would! -- then let me fly
From joys that cost so dear: --
Though I could sit, and look, and sigh,
Yet 'tis thy frown I fear.

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