John Bampfylde - In Praise of Delia lyrics

Cold is the senseless heart, that never strove With the mild tumult of a real flame, Rugged the breast that beauty cannot tame Nor youth's enlivening graces teach to love. The pathless vale, the long forsaken grove, The rocky cave that bears the fair one's name, With ivy mantled over. For empty fame Let him amidst the rabble toil, or rove For plunder far to western clime. Give me to waste the hours in amorous play With Delia, beauteous maid; or build the rhyme Praising her flowing hair, her snowy arms, And all that prodigality of charms Formed to enslave my heart and grace my lay.