human
Oh! had we some bright little isle of our own, In a blue summer ocean far off and alone, Where a leaf never dies in the still-blooming bowers, And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers; Where the sun loves to pause With so fond a delay, That the night only draws A thin veil o'er the day; Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give.
gpt
Sir Knight, _I feel not the least alarm_, or the still worse
human
Believe me, if all those _endearing young charms_,