I love the merry moonlight,
For when it gleams so mildly
The passions rest that rule the breast
At other times so wildly.
I love the merry moonlight,
For 'neath it I can borrow
Such blissful dreams, that this world seems
Without a sin or sorrow.
OH, WHAT ARE THE CHAINS OF LOVE MADE OF?[19]
Oh, what are the chains of Love made of,
The only bonds that can,
As iron gyves the body, thrall
The free-born soul of man?
Can you twist a rope of beams of the sun,
Or have you power to seize,
And round your hand, like threads of silk,
Wind up the wandering breeze?
Can you collect the morning dew
And, with the greatest pains,
Beat every drop into a link,
And of these links make chains?
More fleeting in their nature still,
And less substantial are
Than sunbeam, breeze, and drop of dew,
Smile, sigh, and tear—by far.
And yet of these Love's chains are made,
The only bonds that can,
As iron gyves the body, thrall
The free-born soul of man.