Addressed to a Lady on her Birth-Day
Long may'st thou live! long be blest
With every joy that life endears;
May peace for aye illume thy breast,
And Hope make rainbows of thy tears.
Long may'st thou live! but not to see
Friends fall like leaves in autumn's bower,
In the world's desert leaving thee
A withered, lonely, joyless flower.
No! Lady - rather may'st thou die,
When sympathy thy pangs can soothe,
Fond friendship close thy dying eye,
And love thy dying pillow smooth;
But oh! may my last breath be sped
Ere thou death's bitter cup shall quaff:
I could not look upon thee dead,
Nor live to write thine epitaph!