I only—do all that I can—
Converse on the ball and the weather,
While she opens and closes her fan.
What I thought to have said seems audacious,
Her ear it would surely offend;
She would turn from me, no longer gracious,
And frown my delight to an end.
Far better to talk of the weather,
Or ponder in rapture supreme:
’Tis so joyous to sit here together,