4
Jessy and the Rose.
The Rose that blooms upon the bush,
And sheds it’s fragrance round,
Must yield to Jessie’s charms at once,
If she but trip the ground.
The dimple on her modest cheek,
Amidst the Rose’s hue,
And the fond heart beats in her breast,
Declares that she is true.
How bright the ev’ning Star doth rise,
How mild the fanning gale,
When Jessie’s link'd into my arm,
In pleasure’s bark I sail.
The snow in whiteness falleth short,
To that of Jessie’s skin,
Yet, still her better part's unseen,
And hid her breast within.
Her eye the fire of love displays,
And when she speaks, I hear,
Pure sentiments of sense sublime,
Which ravishes my ear.
And when she walks how straight she goes.
Her feet how neat, and small,
Proportion fine her ancles show,
She’s neither low nor 'tall.
Except herself there’s none on earth,
Perfection can display,
Her Soul is from the purest source,
Her body best of clay.
