For twenty summers ripening by my side;
All feculence of falsehood long thrown down;
All social virtues rising in his soul;
As crystal clear; and smiling, as they rise!
Here nectar flows; it sparkles in our sight; 590
Rich to the taste, and genuine from the heart.
High-flavour’d bliss for gods! on earth how rare!
On earth how lost!—Philander is no more.
Think’st thou the theme intoxicates my song?
Am I too warm?—Too warm I cannot be.