To Phyllis Reading a Letter.
Reading edition
A smile is curving o'er her creamy cheek, Her bosom swells with all a lover's joy, When love receives a message that the coy Young love-god made a strong and true heart speak From far-off lands; and like a mountain-peak That loses in one avalanche its cloy Of ice and snow, so doth her breast employ Its hidden store of blushes; and they wreak Destruction, as they crush my aching heart,— Destruction, wild, relentless, and as sure As the poor Alpine hamlet's; and no art Can hide my agony, no herb can cure My wound. Her very blush says, "We must part." Why was it always my fate to endure?