By those dark eyes, where light is ever playing,
Where Love in depth of shadow holds his throne,
And by those lips, which give whate'er thou'rt saying,
Or grave or gay, a music of its own,
A music far beyond all minstrel's playing,
I love but thee—I love but thee!
By that fair brow, where Innocence reposes,
As pure as moonlight sleeping upon snow,
And by that cheek, whose fleeting blush discloses
A hue too bright to bless this world below,
And only fit to dwell on Eden's roses,
I love but thee—I love but thee!
LET JOY ALONE BE REMEMBERED NOW.
Let thy joys alone be remembered now,
Let thy sorrows go sleep awhile;
Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow,
Let Love light it up with his smile,
For thus to meet, and thus to find,
That Time, whose touch can chill
Each flower of form, each grace of mind,
Hath left thee blooming still,
Oh, joy alone should be thought of now,
Let our sorrows go sleep awhile;
Or, should thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow,
Let Love light it up with his smile.
When the flowers of life's sweet garden fade,
If but one bright leaf remain,
Of the many that once its glory made,
It is not for us to complain.
But thus to meet and thus to wake
In all Love's early bliss;
Oh, Time all other gifts may take,
So he but leaves us this!
Then let joy alone be remembered now,
Let our sorrows go sleep awhile;
Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er the brow,
Let Love light it up with his smile!
LOVE THEE, DEAREST? LOVE THEE?
Love thee, dearest? love thee?
Yes, by yonder star I swear,
Which thro' tears above thee
Shines so sadly fair;
Tho' often dim,
With tears, like him,
Like him my truth will shine,
And—love thee, dearest? love thee?
Yes, till death I'm thine.
Leave thee, dearest? leave thee?
No, that star is not more true;
When my vows deceive thee,
He will wander too.
A cloud of night
May veil his light,
And death shall darken mine—
But—leave thee, dearest? leave thee?
No, till death I'm thine.
MY HEART AND LUTE.
I give thee all—I can no more—
Tho' poor the offering be;
My heart and lute are all the store
That I can bring to thee.
A lute whose gentle song reveals
The soul of love full well;
And, better far, a heart that feels
Much more than lute could tell.