Poetry Archives

Love, with rosy fetter,
   Held us firmly bound;
Pure unmix’d enjoyment
   Grateful here we found.
Bosom, bosom meeting,
   ‘Gainst our youths we press’d;
Bright the moon arose, then,
   Glad to see us blest.

Denmark’s honour beckon’d,
   Loud the canon roar’d;
Perish’d in the battle
   They whom we ador’d.
Sweet is, grave, thy slumber,
   Free from care and noise;
Short are earthly sorrows,—
   Endless heaven’s joys.