To make thy gentle heart rejoice;
Ope but thy lips, and soon thou’lt know
’Tis but the echo of thy voice.
Such tones, if kindly, still prolong—
I cannot ask a sweeter song.
There’s music beaming from thy brow—
Within thine eyes a tuneful tongue;
And gazing there, I fancy how
The morning stars together sung.
Through passion’s waste, when wandering far,