Classic Poem

Maid of the cold suspicious heart,
Ah! wherefore doubt thy Henry's love?
Imputing thus to practised art
The signs that real passion prove.

While through the sleepless night I sigh,
And jealous fears and anguish own,
At morn in restless slumbers lie,
Then, languid, rise to muse alone:

While harmony my soul disdains,
And beauties vainly round me shine,
Save when I hear thy favourite strains,
Or beauties see resembling thine:

While I in fixed attention gaze,
If e'er thou breathe thy plaintive lay,
And while, though others loudly praise,
I deeply sigh, and nothing say;

While I reject thy offered hand,
And shun the touch which others seek,
Alone with thee in silence stand,
Nor dare, though chance befriend me, speak:....

Ah! Laura, while I thus impart
The ardent love in which I pine,
While all these symptoms speak my heart,
Say, why should doubt inhabit thine?