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Poem	My senses ofttimes are oppress'd, Oft stagnant is my blood; But when by Christel's sight I'm blest, I feel my strength renew'd. I see her here, I see her there, And really cannot tell The manner how, the when, the where, The why I love her well. If with the merest glance I view Her black and roguish eyes, And gaze on her black eyebrows too, My spirit upward flies. Has any one a mouth so sweet, Such love-round cheeks as she? Ah, when the eye her beauties meet, It ne'er content can be. And when in airy German dance I clasp her form divine, So quick we whirl, so quick advance, What rapture then like mine! And when she's giddy, and feels warm, I cradle her, poor thing, Upon my breast, and in mine arm,-- I'm then a very king! And when she looks with love on me, Forgetting all but this, When press'd against my bosom, she Exchanges kiss for kiss, All through my marrow runs a thrill, Runs e'en my foot along! I feel so well, I feel so ill, I feel so weak, so strong! Would that such moments ne'er would end! The day ne'er long I find; Could I the night too with her spend, E'en that I should not mind. If she were in mine arms but held, To quench love's thirst I'd try; And could my torments not be quell'd, Upon her breast would die. 1776.*
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