Fair the face of orient day,Fair the tints of op’ning rose;But fairer still my Delia dawns,More lovely far her beauty shows.
Sweet the lark’s wild warbled lay,Sweet the tinkling rill to hear;But, Delia, more delightful still,Steal thine accents on mine ear.
The flower-enamour’d busy beeThe rosy banquet loves to sip;Sweet the streamlet’s limpid lapseTo the sun-brown’d Arab’s lip.
But, Delia, on thy balmy lipsLet me, no vagrant insect, rove;O let me steal one liquid kiss,For Oh! my soul is parch’d with love.