Classic Poem

While these close Walls thy Beauties hide,
Immur'd within this guarded Grove,
On the clear Stream's opposing Side
The Muse shall wail my hopeless Love.

My Love, which nothing can outvie,
Which never shall a Period know:
Ye Breezes, tell her as ye fly;
Ye Waters, bear it as ye flow.

And tho' (by adverse Friends confin'd)
The yielding Fair I vainly crave;
O bring her Murmurs, gentle Wind!
Her Image, every ebbing Wave!

Yet, O ye Winds, her Sighs conceal;
Nor you, ye Waves, reflect her Face;
Left Æolus my Passion feel,
And Neptune sue for her Embrace.

Small Need ye shou'd her Accents bear,
Or to my View her Form impart,
Whose Voice dwells ever on my Ear,
Whose Image, ever in my Heart.