English poem
September 1800
by Anna Seward
Sweet maid, is thy soft, snowy hand Unplighted yet, and gaily free? O may thy graces soon command A power, that shall resemble me!
Since me a silken cage thou’lt find For all thy future swains fond letters, And may thy charms his wishes bind In as indissoluble fetters!
And when, enamour’d, he shall yield All power his freedom to regain, With sense, and smiles, and virtue, gild His viewless, but eternal chain!