Poems (Rowe)/To ——— (Would you care, dear love, if you knew)

by Louise Jopling Rowe

For works with similar titles, see To —.

TO ———

WOULD you care, dear love, if you knew,
 That as Stars on a wintry night,
My dreams and my mem'ries of you
 In my life are the sole things bright?
For I muse on a Summer's eve,
 When your lips first trembled on mine,
And your eyes wore a tender look,
 Like a Saint's at a holy Shrine,
Alas! and alas! oh! my Love,
 Your Face was too fair to be true.
For Men such as I, I am glad
 That Women like you are but few.

You took from my soul all its joy,
 And rifled my heart of its youth;
Because that one Woman was false,
 I think that in none there is truth.
Yet, Dear, did I know where you were,
 The thraldom of Love is so sweet;
A look from your passionate lids
 Would bring me again to your feet.
Alas! and alas! oh! my Love,
 Though faces less fair are more true;
I find—and oh! me! I am glad,
 No Woman on Earth like to you.