Who could be weary of her sight?
Each day new beauties spring:
Just Heaven, who made her fair and bright,
Inspires me while I sing.
In any land where'er the sea
Bathes some delicious shore,
Wher'er the sweetest clime may be
The south wind wanders o'er,
'Tis but an idle dream to say
With her may aught compare:
The world no treasure can display
So precious and so fair.
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Copyright � 1998 Michael Ammar.