To a Lady Who Presented the Author with the Velvet Band Which Bound Her Tresses
This Band, which bound thy yellow hairIs mine, sweet girl! thy pledge of love;It claims my warmest, dearest care,Like relics left of saints above.
Oh! I will wear it next my heart;'Twill bind my soul in bonds to thee:From me again 'twill ne'er depart,But mingle in the grave with me.
The dew I gather from thy lipIs not so dear to me as this;That I but for a moment sip,And banquet on a transient bliss:
This will recall each youthful scene,E'en when our lives are on the wane;The leaves of Love will still be greenWhen Memory bids them bud again.
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