Oh! had I leisure to sigh and mourn,
Fanny, dearest, for thee I ’d sigh;
And every smile on my cheek should turn
To tears when thou art nigh.
But between love, and wine, and sleep,
So busy a life I live,
That even the time it would take to weep
Is more than my heart can give.
Then bid me not to despair and pine,
Fanny, dearest of all the dears!
The Love that’s order’d to bathe in wine
Would be sure to take cold in tears.
Reflected bright in this heart of mine,
Fanny, dearest, thy image lies;
But oh, the mirror would cease to shine,
If dimm’d too often with sighs.
They lose the half of beauty’s light,
Who view it through sorrow’s tear;
And ’tis but to see thee truly bright
That I keep my eye-beam clear.
Then wait no longer till tears shall flow,
Fanny, dearest—the hope is vain;
If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow,
I shall never attempt it with rain.