When Fanny I saw as she tript o'er the green,
   Fair, blooming, soft, artless and kind;
Fond love in her eyes, wit and sense in her mien,
   And warmness with modesty join'd:
Transported with sudden amazement I stood,
   Fast riveted down to the place;
Her delicate shape, easy motion I view'd,
   And wander'd o'er every grace. 

Ye gods! what luxuriance of beauty, I cry,
   What raptures must dwell in her arms!
On her lips I could feast, on her breast I could die,
   O Fanny, how sweet are thy charms!
Whilst thus in idea my passion I fed,
   Soft transport my senses invade, 
Young Damon step'd up, with the substance he fled,
   And left me to kiss the dear shade.