YOUNG MOLLY, who lives at the foot of the hill, Whose fame every virgin with envy doth fill, Of beauty is blessed with so ample a share, Men call her the lass with the delicate air. One evening, last May, when I traversed the grove, In thoughtless retirement, not dreaming of love, I chanced to espy the gay nymph, I declare, And really she'd got a most delicate air! That moment young Cupid selected a dart, And pierced without pity, my innocent heart; From thence how to win the dear maid was my care A captive I fell to her delicate air. A thousand times o'er I've repeated my suit, But still the tormenter affects to be mute: Then tell me, you swains, who have conquered the fair, How to win the dear lass with the delicate air. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ELMER BARR by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE EXILE'S SONG by ROBERT GILFILLAN DELIGHT IN DISORDER by ROBERT HERRICK HIS EXCELLENCY GENERAL WASHINGTON by PHILLIS WHEATLEY |