95
TO
Oh! say not, that I love not nature's face,
And that I cannot know her beauty's power!
Pleasure is unto me a lonely thing:
Deep sorrow, or rapt joy, I cannot feel,
But in still solitude: I may not brook
Another's eye should mark my secret thoughts.
Since the first hour that tears or smiles were mine,
I never sought communion in my grief,
And none could share my silent happiness.
If thou would'st know how I do love to gaze
