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- YES, I'm in love, I feel it now,
- And Cælia has undone me;
- And yet I'll swear I can't tell how
- The pleasing plague stole on me.
- 'Tis not her face that love creates,
- For there no graces revel;
- 'Tis not her shape, for there the fates
- Have rather been uncivil.
- 'Tis not her air, for sure in that
- There's nothing more than common;
- And all her sense is only chat
- Like any other woman.
- Her voice, her touch, might give th' alarm--
- 'Twas both perhaps, or neither;
- In short, 'twas that provoking charm
- Of Cælia altogether.
- William Whitehead
Poets' Corner .
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