TO ONE WHO LEANED OVER ME WHILST I WAS SEATED AT HER HARP

O Lady ! bend not over me
Such lips, such blooming lips as those,
Lest in my dream of ecstasy
I might mistake them for a rose.

O Lady, stoop not near my breast,
That bosom heaped with virgin snow,
Lest that, perchance, it may be prest,
Ere I myself the truth did know.

Ah! keep that dazzling, restless arm
Down by thine own decorous side;
One single kiss might break the charm
Which now is all thy maiden pride!

Gaze not in mine with those sweet eyes,
As if the orbs of Heaven stood near;
Lest thou might'st never gain those skies
Which should be thy angelic sphere!