I Love Thee
I love thee - I love thee!
'Tis all that I can say;
It is my vision in the night,
My dreaming in the day;
The very echo of my heart,
The blessing when I pray:
I love thee - I love thee!
Is all that I can say.
I love thee - I love thee!
Is ever on my tongue;
In all my proudest poesy
That chorus still is sung;
It is the verdict of my eyes,
Amidst the gay and young:
I love thee - I love thee!
A thousand maids among.
I love thee - I love thee!
Thy bright and hazel glance,
The mellow lute upon those lips,
Whose tender tones entrance;
But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs
That still these words enhance.
I love thee - I love thee!
Whatever be thy chance.
Ruth
She stood breast high amid the corn,
Clasped by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.
On her cheek an autumn flush,
Deeply ripened;-such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.
Round her eyes her tresses fell,
Which were blackest none could tell,
But long lashes veiled a light,
That had else been all too bright.
And her hat, with shady brim,
Made her tressy forehead dim;-
Thus she stood amid the stooks,
Praising God with sweetest looks:-
Sure, I said, heaven did not mean,
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean,
Ley thy sheaf adown and come,
Share my harvest and my home.
The Time Of Roses
It was not in the winter
Our loving lot was cast;
It was the Time of Roses-
We pluck'd them as we pass'd!
'Twas twilight, and I bade you go,
But still you held me fast;
It was the Time of Roses-
We pluck'd them as we pass'd!
What else could peer thy glowing cheek,
That tears began to stud?
And when I ask'd the like of Love,
You snatch'd a damask bud,
And oped it to the dainty core,
Still glowing to the last;
It was the Time of Roses-
We pluck'd them as we pass'd!
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