English poem
Amatory Lines
by Thomas Gray
With beauty, with pleasure surrounded, to languish— To weep without knowing the cause of my anguish; To start from short slumbers, and wish for the morning— To close my dull eyes when I see it returning; Sighs sudden and frequent, looks ever dejected— Words that steal from my tongue, by no meaning connected! Ah! say, fellow-swains, how these symptoms befell me? They smile, but reply not—Sure Delia will tell me!