New gowns shine fresh as May,
The Park is glad and gay,
Ah–but the woods are green and shady–
Come, Delia, come away!
The crown your kneeling slaves award you
Is beauty’s royal right;
Your beauty, Delia, might
Win crowns more sweet, more bright:
Your niggard world will not afford you
The crown of Heart’s delight.
Sable your court will wear–to lose you;
My garden’s dressed in green,
Such buds its leaves between
As never yet were seen;
There is no flower it can refuse you–
Come to your King, my Queen!

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