What do I love? a polished mind,
A temper cheeful, meek, and kind;
A graceful air, unspoil’d by art,
A voice that sinks into the heart;
A playful and expressive smile,
Alas! my heart responds the while;
All this my Ambrosine is true,
But I love more, in loving you.
I love those roses when they rise,
From anger, joy, and soft surprise;
I love the kind attentive zeal,
So prompt to know what others feel;
The mildness which cannot reprove,
But in the sweetest tones of love;
All this my Ambrosine is true,
But I love more in loving you.
The self command which can sustain,
In silence, weariness, and pain,
The transport at a friend’s success,
Which has not words or power to bless;
Buy by the sudden starting tear,
Appears more precious, more sincere;
Oh! this my Ambrosine is true,
And this I love in loving you.
Ambrosine