Imitated From Catullus. [1]

TO ELLEN. [i]

Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire, A million scarce would quench desire; Still would I steep my lips in bliss, And dwell an age on every kiss; Nor then my soul should sated be, Still would I kiss and cling to thee: Nought should my kiss from thine dissever, Still would we kiss and kiss for ever; E'en though the numbers did exceed [ii] The yellow harvest's countless seed; To part would be a vain endeavour: Could I desist?--ah! never--never.

November 16, 1806.

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