That fiery facias
’Twas thine, Enchantress of the Surrey Grove;
And ever since that night,
In dark and bright,
Thy face is registered within my stove!
Long may that starry brow enjoy its rays;
May no untimely blow its doom forestall;
But when old age prepares the friendly pall,
When the last spark of all thy sparks decays,
Then die lamented by good people all,