Love, Thou Gayest Fancy-Weaver.

Love, thou gayest fancy-weaver,         Heart-betrayer, soul-deceiver,         Come with all thy clinging kisses;         Bringing all thy beaming blisses;         It may serve the cynic's parts,             If he curse and if he scout thee,         But, O, where were gentle hearts,             If they had to live without thee!         Weave the spells of thy beguiling         'Round and 'round me with thy smiling,         Till the ashen cheek is beaming,         And the faded eye is gleaming;         Millions may endure the fight             In the battle vain to end thee,         But when taste they thy delight             They will serve thee and defend thee.         Bring thy little winsome graces         And the sweets of glad embraces,         Till the pleasures all are dancing         Into mazy whirls entrancing;         It may please the icy breast             To despise thee and distress thee,         But the burning hearts find rest             When they bless thee and caress thee.         Send thy gladness, laughing rover,         All my sorrows o'er and over,         Till the strains of happy pleasure         Mingle in melodious measure;         It may give a transient glee             To condemn thy ways and sever,         But the sweets of melody             Thou wilt murmur on forever.         Bind my heart in silken chaining,         Till from thee is none remaining;         Clothe my soul in glad completeness         Of thy happiness and sweetness;         When the times are true, the soul             May not hunger for thy gladness,         But when surging sorrows roll             Thou alone shall banish sadness.