Classic Poem

No, Delia, 'tis not thy face,
Nor form that I admire,
Although thy beauty and thy grace
Might well awake desire.

Something in ev'ry part of thee
To praise, to love, I find,
But dear as is thy form to me,
Still dearer is thy mind.

No selfish passion moves my breast,
No higher wish I know,
Than, if I cannot make thee blest,
At least to see thee so.

If heav'n but happiness shall give
To thee,—content am I;
And as with thee I'd wish to live,
For thee I'd bear to die.