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 ravish'd 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 youth 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, or shadiest grove:

Tell me, my heart, if this be love?