Oh! blame him not, if he doth sigh
For light like this to make him blest!
Then blame him not—oh! blame him not,
For madness only is his crime,—
Oh! never will you be forgot,
While all your image is on time.
A heart like thine—an eye so bright,
Will ever all the passions move—
When gazing on those eyes of light,
What can a poor man do but love?