The curses my mad rhymes upon thee threw,--
Forgive them!--Ah! in my own breast they burn!
May I not move thee to remember now
How oft, dear Door, thou wert love's place of prayer?
While with fond kiss and supplicating vow,
I hung thee o'er with many a garland fair?
In vain the prayer! Thine own resolve must break
Thy prison, Delia, and its guards evade.
Bid them defiance for thy lover's sake!
Be bold! The brave bring Venus to their aid.
'Tis Venus guides a youth through doors unknown;
'Tis taught of her, a maid with firm-set lips
Steals from her soft couch, silent and alone,
And noiseless to her tryst securely trips.
Her art it is, if with a husband near,
A lady darts a love-lorn look and smile
To one more blest; but languid sloth and fear
Receive not Venus' perfect gift of guile.
Trust Venus, too, t' avert the wretched wrath
Of footpad, hungry for thy robe and ring!
So safe and sacred is a lover's path,
That common caution to the winds we fling.
Oft-times I fail the wintry frost to feel,
And drenching rains unheeded round me pour,
If Delia comes at last with mute appeal,
And, finger on her lip, throws wide the door.
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