a love-letter.
Oh! could I, dare I, touch that chord,
Thou wert my own, in deed and word.
Thou wert my own, in deed and word.
It is because thou art apart,
A being wrapt and lone,
All differing from those around,
I'd make thee all mine own.
And thou art fair, and good, and true,
With something more, than all I knew.
A being wrapt and lone,
All differing from those around,
I'd make thee all mine own.
And thou art fair, and good, and true,
With something more, than all I knew.
Thou art not of the giddy throng,
Who laugh each hour away,
As if the heart could never know
A shadow of decay.
And yet thy smile is pure and bright—
Something of mirth, yet more of light.
Who laugh each hour away,
As if the heart could never know
A shadow of decay.
And yet thy smile is pure and bright—
Something of mirth, yet more of light.
In heart and soul thou art above
The many round thee met;
And yet how few could ever tell
What I can ne'er forget.
The many round thee met;
And yet how few could ever tell
What I can ne'er forget.
68
