Rare lips, trim boddice, and a waist so small,
With clipsome lightness, dwindling ever less,
Beneath the robe of pea-y greeniness?
Dost thou remember, when with stately prance,
Our heads went crosswise in the country-dance;
How soft, warm fingers, tipped like buds of balm
Trembled within the squeezing of thy palm;
And how a cheek grew flushed and peachy-wise,
At the frank lifting of thy cordial eyes?
Ah, me! that night there was one gentle thing,