SONG
.
TO
ALMERIA
.
THOUGH
since
I
lov'd
an
age
is
flown
,
The
blissful
hour
you
still
postpone
;
Ah!
lovely
Maid
,
no
longer
frown
,
But
each
fond
hope
with
rapture
crown
.
Nor
think
,
though
lur'd
by
Angel
charms
,
That
Time
will
linger
in
thy
arms
;
Oh!
no
;
his
scythe
shall
crop
the
rose
That
on
thy
cheek
divinely
blows
.
But
ere
the
russian
riot
there
,
To
Nature
yield
,
enchanting
fair
;
Nor
more
my
ardent
wish
reprove
,
For
know
,
Life's
richest
boon
is
Love
.