A Poets Tell

My pressing hand of a poets tell,
Where the sweet release of her enchanting eyes are shown.
And beauty true, haunts her unvanishing glance.
Which breathes like an existing star on it‘s earthen visit.

My inward heart of love, unconquered, fell long, so dear,
For a lovely woman who now must wing her flight.
Oh! Weep my almighty fathers, Qh! Weep your son,
Ease this tyrant monster that pains my bosom.

Woes renew and tread my cheek with scorching tears,
In this kindling heart of soul pure, I lay my spirit,
A thousand time I hold her in love, and would leave her not,
Let this world be won.