To the Same. 

YOUR shape, your lips, your eyes are still the same,
Still the bright object of my constant flame;
But where is now the tender glance, that stole
With gentle sweetness my enchanted soul?
Kind fears, impatient wishes, soft desires,
Each melting charm that love alone inspires,
These, these are lost; and I behold no more
The maid, my heart delighted to adore.
Yet still unchang'd, still doating to excess,
I ought but dare not try to love you less;
Weakly I grieve, unpity'd I complain;
But not unpunish'd shall your change remain;
For you, cold maid, whom no complaints can move,
Were far more blest, when you like me cou'd love.