Here, take my heart—'twill be safe in thy keeping,
While I go wandering o'er land and o'er sea;
Smiling or sorrowing, waking or sleeping,
What need I care, so my heart is with thee?
If in the race we are destined to run, love,
They who have light hearts the happiest be,
Then happier still must be they who have none, love.
And that will be my case when mine is with thee.
It matters not where I may now be a rover,
I care not how many bright eyes I may see;
Should Venus herself come and ask me to love her,
I'd tell her I couldn't—my heart is with thee.
And there let it lie, growing fonder and, fonder—
For, even should Fortune turn truant to me,
Why, let her go—I've a treasure beyond her,
As long as my heart's out at interest With thee!
OH, CALL IT BY SOME BETTER NAME.
Oh, call it by some better name,
For Friendship sounds too cold,
While Love is now a worldly flame,
Whose shrine must be of gold:
And Passion, like the sun at noon,
That burns o'er all he sees,
Awhile as warm will set as soon—
Then call it none of these.
Imagine something purer far,
More free from stain of clay
Than Friendship, Love, or Passion are,
Yet human, still as they:
And if thy lip, for love like this,
No mortal word can frame,
Go, ask of angels what it is,
And call it by that name!
POOR WOUNDED HEART
Poor wounded heart, farewell!
Thy hour of rest is come;
Thou soon wilt reach thy home,
Poor wounded heart, farewell!
The pain thou'lt feel in breaking
Less bitter far will be,
Than that long, deadly aching,
This life has been to thee.
There—broken heart, farewell!
The pang is o'er—
The parting pang is o'er;
Thou now wilt bleed no more.
Poor broken heart, farewell!
No rest for thee but dying—
Like waves whose strife is past,
On death's cold shore thus lying,
Thou sleepst in peace at last—
Poor broken heart, farewell!