Classic Poem

Dear sparrow! the pride of my maid,
With whom she in sport often plays;
Whom oft, on her snowy breast laid,
She toys with a thousand fond ways;

To whom, as you woo that blest seat,
The tip of her finger she'll move;
Well pleas'd thy sharp bites to create,
The bites of sweet passion and love:

For thus, when alone, does my fair
Gay scenes of new pleasure devise;
Thus sooth of her bosom the care,
Thus cool her fierce heats as they rise:

O, my sparrow, could I but with thee,
Like her, my solicitudes ease!
As grateful most sure it would be,
As much my poor heart would it please;

As pleas'd the swift Virgin of yore
The apple of gold, that untied
Her zone, which so long time she wore;
And made her, unwilling, a bride.