William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Georgian Verse. 1909.
Song: ‘Perhaps it is not love, said I’William Shenstone (1714–1763)
P
That melts my soul when Flavia’s nigh:
Where wit and sense like hers agree,
One may be pleased, and yet be free.
It needs no lover’s eye to find;
The hermit freezing in his cell
Might wish the gentle Flavia well.
The servile chain that lovers wear;
Let, let me all my fears remove,
My doubts dispel—it is not love—
In any form less fair than thine?
It is—it is love’s subtile fire,
And under friendship lurks desire.