Your Heart Is A Music-Box, Dearest!
by Frances Sargent Locke Osgood
Your heart is a music-box, dearest!
With exquisite tunes at command,
Of melody sweetest and clearest,
If tried by a delicate hand;
But its workmanship, love, is so fine,
At a single rude touch it would break;
Then oh! be the magic key mine,
Its fairy-like whispers to wake!
And there's one little tune it can play,
That I fancy all others above --
You learn'd it of Cupid one day --
It begins with and ends with
My heart echoes to it