The poem
ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire, And waste my soul with care; But ah! how bootless to admire, When fated to despair!
Yet in thy presence, lovely Fair, To hope may be forgiven; For sure ’twere impious to despair So much in sight of heaven.
8,657 poems196 poets · 750 BC to todaySince 2003

The poem
ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire, And waste my soul with care; But ah! how bootless to admire, When fated to despair!
Yet in thy presence, lovely Fair, To hope may be forgiven; For sure ’twere impious to despair So much in sight of heaven.
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