Till at last each joy came tinged with fear;
She fear'd, if he stroll'd where wild flowers meet,
Lest thorns might pierce his delicate feet;
Or a reptile's sting beneath his wing
She fear'd, if he lay in the greenwood asleep;
Or walk'd he awake by the moonlit lake—
In dread of an ague, how would she weep!
She chatted and sang to Love no more,
Lest music and chat should prove "a bore;"