Just as we think the sweet delights our own,
We strive to fix them, and we find them flown:—
For fix’d by laws, and limited by rules,
Affection stagnates and love’s fervour cools;
Shrinks like the gather’d flower, which, when possess’d,
Droops in the hand, or withers on the breast:
Feels all its native bloom and fragrance fly,
And death’s pale shadows close its purple dye.
While mutual wishes form love’s only vows,
By mutual interests nursed, the union grows;