The peerless apples of the Hesperides,
Stolen by Fancy from the guardant Fates,
Served, by a Nubian slave, on golden plates!
And I would hang around thee day and night,
Nor ever heed, or know the night from day;
If Time had wings, I should not see his flight,
Or feel his shadow in my sunny way!
Forgetful of the world, I’d stand apart,
And gaze on thee unseen, and touch my lute,
Sweet-voiced, a type and image of my heart,