Odes. Book II, Ode XII

Oh author of my chief desire, What joy shall fill my ardent breast If, when I sing thy fame, Thou but to humble faith aspire, In me, and me alone, still blest, And dead to other flame.

I fain this loyal heart would change, This heart that pants for thee alone, For one more fierce and free. No, no. Should I my thoughts estrange, Their lawful king should I dethrone, Like treason teach I thee.

O how I love thee, chosen youth! The race of pride and scorn in vain My open theme disprove. They know not thy desire and truth; They know not my delightful pain; They know not how to love.

Ah fools! the secret soul who spies? Their ignorance they only blame Who blame my bliss divine. They never saw thee with my eyes What hour thy wishes met my aim, And bent thee to be mine. My dreams still paint thee in my arms; But soon, and leave me lost in woe, The rapturous visions fly. Oh come, and bless me with thy charms! Or if thy heart no pity know, Oh come and see me die!