How mild they shine as o’er them fall
Those lashes long their lustre screening!
Sweet Fanny, can you not divine
The form that floats before my dreaming,
And whose the pictured smiles I see
This moment on my canvass beaming?
You cannot! then I’ve failed indeed,
To paint a single look I cherish—
So, you may cast my lines aside,
And bid them like my memory perish.