A Song
Gentle love, this hour befriend me,
To my eyes resign thy dart;
Notes of melting music lend me,
To dissolve a frozen heart.
Chill as mountain snow her bosom,
Though I tender language use,
'Tis by cold indifference frozen,
To my arms, and to my Muse.
See! my dying eyes are pleading,
Where a breaking heart appears;
For thy pity interceding
With the eloquence of tears.
While the lamp of life is fading,
And beneath thy coldness dies,
Death my ebbing pulse invading,
Take my soul into thy eyes.
—Aaron Hill