O Mollie, I would I possessed such a heart;
It enchants me—so gentle and true;
I would I possessed all its magical art,
Then, Mollie, I would enchant you.
Those dear, rosy lips—tho' I never caressed them(?)—
Are as sweet as the wild honey-dew;
Your cheeks—all the angels in Heaven have blessed them,
But not one is as lovely as you.
Then give me that heart,—O that innocent heart!
For mine own is cold and perdu;
It enchants me, but give me its magical art,
Then, Mollie, I will enchant you.
1855.