Classic Poem

AN ANACREONTIC .

Come, my Laura ! haste away,
Come in all thy sweetness gay;
What have we with crouds to do?
What with etiquette and shew?
Now, while Sol's declining fire
A thousand tender thoughts inspire,
Let us trace yon upland grove,
And banquet on the sweets of love.
The muses shall attend our walk,
And sentiments illume our talk,
For all conspire their bliss to crown,
Whose animated souls are one.

Thus, quitting all the bustling throng,
Our tranquil hours shall glide along,
And in each other only blest,
We'll leave to worldlings all the rest.