by Anonymous / Unidentified Author

She, who my poor heart possesses
Language: English 
She, who my poor heart possesses,
Is of late so fickle grown;
She to ev'ry fop that dresses
Still is parting with her own.
Once, if any chanc'd to name her,
I all ravish'd did appear;
Now I blush lest they defame her
With some truth I dare not hear.

While my doubts are yet prevailing,
If she but the thing deny,
Soon she makes me leave my railing,
And I give my thoughts the lie.
You whose skill in love is greater,
Say what charm compels my fate,
Say what makes me love her better,
Whom I fear I ought to hate.

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Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 16
Word count: 103