delia, an ode

“to the editor of the star—r prter—if the productions of a siple ploughan can rit a pce the sa paper with sylvester oay, and the other favourites of the es who ilate the star with the stre of ni, your sertion of the enclosed trifle will be sueeded by future unications fro—yours, c, r burns

ellisnd, near dufries, 18th ay, 1789”

fair the face of orient day,

fair the tts of op&039;ng rose;

but fairer still y delia dawns,

ore lovely far her beauty shows

sweet the rk&039;s wild warbled y,

sweet the tklg rill to hear;

but, delia, ore delightful still,

steal the aents on e ear

the flower-enaour&039;d by bee

the rosy banet loves to sip;

sweet the strealet&039;s lipid pse

to the sun-brown&039;d arab&039;s lip

but, delia, on thy baly lips

let , no vagrant sect, rove;

o let steal one liid kiss,

for oh! y ul is parch&039;d with love