delia, an ode
“to the editor of the star.—mr. printer—if the produs of a simple ploughman merit a p the same paper with sylvester otway, and the other favourites of the muses who illumihe star with the lustre of genius, your iion of the enclosed trifle will be succeeded by future unications from—yours, &c., r. burns.
ellisnd, near dumfries, 18th may, 1789.”
fair the face of orient day,
fair the tints of op'ning rose;
but fairer still my delia dawns,
more lovely far her beauty shows.
sweet the rk's wild warbled y,
sweet the tinkling rill to hear;
but, delia, more delightful still,
steal thine ats on mine ear.
the flower-enamour'd busy bee
the rosy ba loves to sip;
sweet the streamlet's limpid pse
to the sun-brown'd arab's lip.
but, delia, on thy balmy lips
let me, no vagrant i, rove;
o let me steal one liquid kiss,
for oh! my soul is parch'd with love.