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Anne Kingsmill Finch - Three Songs
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LOVE, thou art best of Human Joys, 
  Our chiefest Happiness below;
All other Pleasures are but Toys,
Musick without Thee is but Noise, 
  And Beauty but an empty Show. 
Heav`n, who knew best what Man wou`d move, 
  And raise his Thoughts above the Brute;
Said, Let him Be, and let him Love;
That must alone his Soul improve, 
  Howe`er Philosophers dispute. 


II

Quickly, Delia, Learn my Passion,
  Lose not Pleasure, to be Proud;
Courtship draws on Observation,
  And the Whispers of the Croud. 

Soon or late you`ll hear a Lover, 
  Nor by Time his Truth can prove;
Ages won`t a Heart discover, 
  Trust, and so secure my Love

III

`TIS strange, this Heart within my breast, 
  Reason opposing, and her Pow`rs,
Cannot one gentle Moment rest,
  Unless it knows what`s done in Yours. 
In vain I ask it of your Eyes, 
  Which subt`ly would my Fears controul;
For Art has taught them to disguise,
  Which Nature made t` explain the Soul. 

In vain that Sound, your Voice affords, 
  Flatters sometimes my easy Mind;
But of too vast Extent are Words
  In them the Jewel Truth to find. 

Then let my fond Enquiries cease, 
  And so let all my Troubles end:
For, sure, that Heart shall ne`er know Peace, 
  Which on Anothers do`s depend.
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