SONG
.
To
SYLVIA
.
By
D.
G.
IF
truth
can
fix
thy
wav'ring
heart
,
Let
Damon
urge
his
claim
,
He
feels
the
passion
void
of
art
,
The
pure
,
the
constant
flame
.
Tho'
sighing
swains
their
torments
tell
,
Their
sensual
love
contemn
;
They
only
prize
the
beauteous
shell
,
But
slight
the
inward
gem
.
Possession
cures
the
wounded
heart
,
Destroys
the
transient
fire
;
But
when
the
mind
receives
the
dart
,
Enjoyment
whets
desire
.
By
age
your
beauty
will
decay
,
Your
mind
improves
with
years
;
As
when
the
blossoms
fade
away
,
The
rip'ning
fruit
appears
:
May
heav'n
and
Sylvia
grant
my
suit
,
And
bless
the
future
hour
,
That
Damon
,
who
can
taste
the
fruit
,
May
gather
ev'ry
flow'r
!