Thine am I, my Chloris fair,
Well thou may’st discover;
Every pulse along my veins
Tells the ardent Lover.

To thy bosom lay my heart,
There to throb and languish;
Tho’ Despair had wrung its core,
That would heal its anguish.

Take away those rosy lips,
Rich with balmy treasure:
Turn away thine eyes of love,
Lest I die with pleasure!

What is Life when wanting Love?
Night without a morning:
Love’s the cloudless summer sun,
Nature gay adorning.