All the softness of amorous intoxication,
Are held captive in the dimples of thy chin.
Love has excited in my soul a fire
Which cannot be extinguished;—
My bosom is become red with flames,
Like a parterre of roses;—
This heart is no longer mine:
It hangs suspended on the ringlets of thy hair—
And thou, cruel fair! thou piercest it
With a glance of thy cold disdain.