Classic Poem

How happy the lover,
—How easy his chain,
—How pleasing his pain!
How sweet to discover
—He sighs not in vain!
For love, every creature
Is formed by his nature;
—No joys are above
—The pleasures of love.

In vain are our graces,
—In vain are your eyes,
—If love you despise;
When age furrows faces,
—'Tis time to be wise.
Then use the short blessing
That flies in possessing:
—No joys are above
—The pleasures of love.

How happy the lover,
—How easy his chain,
—How pleasing his pain!
How sweet to discover
—He sighs not in vain!
For love, every creature
Is formed by his nature;
—No joys are above
—The pleasures of love.

In vain are our graces,
—In vain are your eyes,
—If love you despise;
When age furrows faces,
—'Tis time to be wise.
Then use the short blessing
That flies in possessing:
—No joys are above
—The pleasures of love.