C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

George, Lord Lyttelton (1709–1773)

Tell Me, My Heart, if This Be Love

WHEN Delia on the plain appears,

Awed by a thousand tender fears,

I would approach, but dare not move;—

Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

Whene’er she speaks, my ravished ear

No other voice than hers can hear;

No other wit but hers approve;—

Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

If she some other swain commend,

Though I was once his fondest friend,

His instant enemy I prove;—

Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

When she is absent, I no more

Delight in all that pleased before,—

The clearest spring, the shadiest grove;—

Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

When fond of power, of beauty vain,

Her nets she spread for every swain,

I strove to hate, but vainly strove;—

Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

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