TO HELENA, ON HER BIRTHDAY.
I.
My own true love, my true love! here's health and joy to you, love!
A happy year, without a tear, and sweet smiles not a few, love!
Of all my anniversaries, I prize your birthday best,
And well I may, for 'twas the day that brighten'd all the rest;
To this I owe my bliss below—oh, more than that, the love
Whose purity my guide may be to happiness above.
II.
My wedding-day is welcome, but it shines in borrow'd bliss,
That day owes all its value to the dear one born on this.
In doubt, you are the monitor I scorn not to obey,
You are the friend I turn to, when a joy is torn away.
In sorrow, I have often feign'd hope's softly soothing tone,
Till, striving to subdue your grief, I half forgot my own.
And then in bliss—oh! what is bliss, I ask—unless it be
To look upon your happiness!—ay, that's the bliss for me!
