Anna, Thy Charms
Anna, thy charms my bosom fire,
And waste my soul with care;
But ah! how bootless to admire,
When fated to despair!
Yet in thy presence, lovely Fair,
To hope may be forgiven;
For sure 'twere impious to despair
So much in sight of heaven.
|This work published before January 1, 1923 is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.|