I love thee, as I love the calm
Of sweet, star-lighted
hours!
I love thee, as I love the balm
Of early
jes'mine flow'rs.
I love thee, as I love the last
Rich smile of fading
day,
Which lingereth, like the look we cast,
On rapture
pass'd away.
I love thee as I love the tone
Of some soft-breathing
flute
Whose soul is wak'd for me alone,
When all beside
is mute.
I love thee as I love the first
Young violet of the
spring;
Or the pale lily, April-nurs'd,
To scented
blossoming.
I love thee, as I love the full,
Clear gushings of the
song,
Which lonely-sad-and beautiful-
At night-fall
floats along,
Pour'd by the bul-bul forth to greet
The hours of rest
and dew;
When melody and moonlight meet
To blend their
charm, and hue.
I love thee, as the glad bird loves
The freedom of its
wing,
On which delightedly it moves
In wildest
wandering.
I love thee as I love the swell,
And hush, of some low
strain,
Which bringeth, by its gentle spell,
The past
to life again.
Such is the feeling which from thee
Nought earthly can
allure:
'Tis ever link'd to all I see
Of
gifted-high-and pure!