SONNET TO * * * * *
INCE I have held thy hand fast locked in mine,Thy beating heart prest close in love to me;
Since first thy sweet voice murmured, "Only thine;
Nor Time shall wrest this faithful heart from thee;"—
I've gazed into thy deep and earnest eyes,
And watch'd thy spirit's growth, until it seemed
My very soul for thee in death could rise,
And even death would only be "I've dreamed;"
For in thy love I live, and life were dead
To me, were thy sweet presence from me gone,
And the soft breathings of thy love were fled,
And I sate watching, waiting, and alone,
To count the loves that have been given to me,
Yet cry in anguish,—"Dearest! only thee!"
