I know not whether I’m crazy,
To love you with such fire;
There is in you a quality
I cease not to admire.
Characters are sent from heaven,
Tho’ not all be heav’nly;
But all virtues are God-given –
Pray, sweet angel, tarry!
Write I like a fool, blind in love,
These last hours of your stay?
Let our messenger be the dove
When you are gone away.
There is in you a quality,
None to you must reveal;
Lest false superficiality
The Truth decides to steal.
Virtue should not be self-conscious,
Or ‘tis Hypocrisy;
May all your friends deem you precious –
Tho’ why, they cannot see.