With eyes as dear in their due degree,
Much such a month, and as bright a brow,
Till you saw yourself, while you cried "Tis She!"
Well, you may, you must, set down to me
Love that was life, life that was love;
A tenure of breath at your lips' decree,
A passion to stand as your thoughts approve,
A rapture to fall where your foot might be.
But did one touch of such love for me
Come in a word or a look of yours,