Goldfinch (1)/Oh!'tis sweet' to think

Oh! 'tis sweet to think.

Oh! ’tis sweet to think, that, where'r we rove,
⁠We are sure to find something blissful and dear
And that, when we’re far from the lips that we love
⁠We have to make love to the lips we are near
The heart, like a tendril, accustom’d to cling,
⁠Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone
But will lean to the nearest, and loveliest thing,
⁠It can twine with itself, and make closely its own.
Then oh! what pleasure, where’er we rove,
⁠To be doom’d to find something still that is dear,
And to know, when from the lips we love,
⁠We have but to make love to the lips we are near.

’Twere a shame, when flowers around us rise,
⁠To make light of the rest, if the rose is not there;
And the world’s so rich in resplendent eyes,
⁠’Twere a pity to limit one’s love to a pair.
Love’s wing and the peacock’s are nearly alike,
⁠They are both of them bright, but they’re changeable too;
And wherever a new beam of beauty can strike,
⁠It will tincture love's plume with a different hue.
Then, oh! what pleasure, where’er we rove,
⁠To be doom'd to find something still that is dear,
And to know, when far from the lips we love,
⁠We have to make love to the lips we are near,