Tu Es Beau Comme Le Desert, Poem by Charlotte Dacre

Oh! my soul's lord! to my enamour'd eye
A fairer person lives not;--turn not then
In soft confusion from me--nor deny
Mine eyes to gaze on thee alone of men.

Thy perfect form, of atoms pure combin'd,
Fair habitation for a lovely soul,
Seeming too much for mortal clay refin'd,
Such bright effulgence mantles thro' the whole.

Thy gentle aspect doth thy mind reveal,
Such love, such harmony, such thoughts benign,
That from me my impassion'd soul does steal,
As anxious to identify with thine!

Oh! delicate seductions! thine alone--
By nature granted thee all men above,
And ah! I trust to all but me unknown,
Whose spirit was sent forth with thine to move.

For sure I own I could not calmly bear
Another should thine essence comprehend,
Nor e'er attempt in thought of thee to share,
Who doth so far above all thought transcend!

Ambrosial air doth ever thee surround
Thy proper atmosphere--its pow'r I feel
With such strange influence as persuades me well,
Near me thou com'st, tho' sight may not reveal.

Then ah! believe these sacred sympathies--
These links divine, we still should dread to sever;
Remember that when nature in us dies,
Our souls unshackl'd spring to life for ever.