Who, sitting often opposite to thee,
May gaze and hear.
The radiance of thy smile from me hath reft,
From miserable me, all sense away,
For when I look on Lesbia naught is left
That Love can say.
My tongue is dumb, while through each trembling limb
The thin flame mounts, till self-wrought murmurs rise
To fill mine ears, and night grown doubly dim
Veils o’er mine eyes.”—C. N. Gregory.