Lady, there's fragrance in your sighs,
And sunlight in your glances;
I never saw such lips and eyes
In pictures or romances;
And Love will readily suppose,
To make you quite enslaving,
That you have taste for verse and prose,
Hot pressed, and line engraving.
And then, you waltz so like a Fay,
That round you envy rankles;
Your partner's head is turned, they say,
As surely as his ankles;
And I was taught, in days far gone,
By a most prudent mother,
That in this world of sorrow, one
Good turn deserves another.
I may not win you!- that's a bore!
But yet 'tis sweet to woo you;
And for this cause,- and twenty more,
I send this gay book to you.
If its songs please you,- by this light!
I will not hold it treason
To bid you dream of me to-night,
And dance with me next season.