LOOSE to the wind her golden tresses stream'd, br Forming bright waves with amorous Zephyr's sighs; br And though averted now, her charming eyes br Then with warm love, and melting pity beam'd, br Was I deceived?--Ah! surely, nymph divine! br That fine suffusion on thy cheek was love; br What wonder then those beauteous tints should move, br Should fire this heart, this tender heart of mine! br Thy soft melodious voice, thy air, thy shape, br Were of a goddess--not a mortal maid; br Yet though thy charms, thy heavenly charms should fade, br My heart, my tender heart could not escape; br Nor cure for me in time or change be found: br The shaft extracted does not cure the wound!br br Charlotte Smithbr br