To chambers brighter than the rose,
To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love,
So kind a star thou seem’st to be,
Sure some enamoured orb above
Descends and burns to meet with thee.
Thine is the breathing, blushing hour,
When all unheavenly passions fly,
Chased by the soul-subduing power
Of Love’s delicious witchery.
O! sacred to the fall of day,