Here you will find the Poem Song XI. - Perhaps it is not love of poet William Shenstone
Perhaps it is not love, said I, That melts my soul when Flavia's nigh; Where wit and sense like hers agree, One may be pleased, and yet be free. The beauties of her polish'd mind It needs no lover's eye to find; The hermit freezing in his cell Might wish the gentle Flavia well. It is not love-averse to bear The servile chain that lovers wear; Let, let me all my fears remove, My doubts dispel-it is not love. Oh! when did wit so brightly shine In any form less fair than thine? It is-it is love's subtle fire, And under friendship lurks desire.
