To see her slender hand, (that future prize)
Fling back a ringlet, oft I dared provoke,
The gentle vengeance of averted eyes.
Yet ah, what wonder, if, when shrinking awe
Withheld me from her sight, I broke my chain?
Or when I made a single glance my law,
What wonder if that law were made in vain?
And say, can nought but converse love inspire?
What tho' for me her lips have never moved?
The vale that speaks but with its feathered choir,