But Strange am I to Happiness

But strange am I to happiness
'Tis foreign to my cast of thought
Me your perfections would not bless
I am not worthy them in aught
And honestly, 'tis my belief
Our union would produce but grief
Though now my love might be intense
Habit would bring indifference

I see you weep
Those tears of yours
Tend not my heart to mitigate
But merely to exasperate
Judge then what roses would be ours
What pleasures Hymen would prepare
For us, maybe, for many a year
Maybe, for many a year



Credits
Writer(s): Henry Spalding
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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