262. Delia: An Ode

 FAIR the face of orient day,
 Fair the tints of op’ning rose;
But fairer still my Delia dawns,
 More lovely far her beauty shows.



Sweet the lark’s wild warbled lay,
 Sweet the tinkling rill to hear;
But, Delia, more delightful still,
 Steal thine accents on mine ear.



The flower-enamour’d busy bee
 The rosy banquet loves to sip;
Sweet the streamlet’s limpid lapse
 To the sun-brown’d Arab’s lip.



But, Delia, on thy balmy lips
 Let me, no vagrant insect, rove;
O let me steal one liquid kiss,
 For Oh! my soul is parch’d with love.

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