To watch his eye, and half in wonder see
’Twas always brightest when it fell on me;
To mark, when by my side, his tender tone,
His hand’s soft pressure when it held my own;
O thus to watch, and wait for him to tell,
What my heart whispered that it knew full well!
. . . . . .
A summer evening, calm, and bright, and fair;
A moonlit garden, he beside me there;
My trembling hand above my heart was pressed,