The rose, when dews of night are shed
That folds its leaves and bows its head
Shall to the genial beams of day
Its blushing beauties full display
Ah! when shall Celia’s beauties rise
Again to bless these longing eyes?
Eyes that must close in endless night,
If she delay to charm their sight!
She comes, the lovely virgin see!
She comes again to love and me,
Before the radiance of her eye
The gloomy shades of sorrows fly.
Not so reviving, morning’s light
To flowers that wither, chill’d by night,
As she sweet hopes her smiles impart
To cheer with joy my drooping heart!
Pour La Coffère Attique