Classic Poem

I.

Oh! chide me not! this breast of mine
A dial has within it,
And every glance and beam of thine,
Is treasur'd but the minute.
Where'er mid suns that smil'd around,
A brighter ray was burning,
It caught the gleam, and there I found
The truant dial turning.
Then chide me not, &c.

II.

I found a ray in every eye,
Sufficient quite to win me,
And saw in some such splendours lie,
To light the flame within me;
That, for the minute, oft I thought
Of every beauty spurning,
But that lov'd one — until I caught
The truant dial turning.
Then chide me not, &c.