St. Preux to Eloisa

As there is a pleasure in being mad Which none but madmen know, So I a secret pleasure had In rambling to and fro'— Which they that always stay at home, Like lazy plants untaught to roam; Which they shall never know. But leaving France last New-Year's day I bade a long adieu! Had I not minded what these sailors say, I had been still with you, And, free from frosts and chilling snows, On your fond bosom found repose. Now, while through barbarous climes we sail, Should Neptune force our ship on shore On some rude isle, by some rough gale, I to your arms return no more, But for some swarthy dame shall bring Cool waters from the Indian spring.

Yet love, with undiminish'd joy, Shall trace your form in Fancy's glass, While I more fond, and you less coy, O'er swelling seas together pass— No rocks or seas can love divide Where heart with heart is thus ally'd!