Ah, why were not my youthful days
Thus passed in learning's pleasant ways!
Easy 't would be success to reach
With such a schoolmistress to teach.
I stood without the happy place,
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And gazed upon her comely face.
O, might the painter's skill portray
The thought I feel, but cannot say!
Or could musicians' heavenly art
Give fitting utterance to my heart!
But poetry unskilled and rude
Can never, in its measures crude,
With all superlatives express
The tenth part of her loveliness,
Nor picture her unfettered grace,
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