If love were not, the wilding rose
Would in its leafy heart inclose
No chalice of perfume;
By mossy bank, in glen, or grot,
No bird would build, if love were not,
No flower complacent bloom.
The sunset clouds would lose their dyes,
The light would fade from beauty's eyes,
The stars their fires consume,
And something missed from hall and cot
Would leave the world, if love were not,
A wilderness of gloom!