 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
200
SONG.
I have rarely sung of Love—
Cherished being of my soul!
Yet that blessing from above
Holds me in its sweet control:
How can I give fitting voice
To a passion so divine?
'Tis enough that I rejoice
That thou art mine—thou art mine.
Cherished being of my soul!
Yet that blessing from above
Holds me in its sweet control:
How can I give fitting voice
To a passion so divine?
'Tis enough that I rejoice
That thou art mine—thou art mine.
I have worshipped Beauty's form,
I have wooed as others woo,
Perchance with words less wild and warm,
But with feelings quite as true;
How often have I lingered, dear,
With my fond heart pressed to thine,
And whispered in thy willing ear—
Thou art mine—thou art mine.
I have wooed as others woo,
Perchance with words less wild and warm,
But with feelings quite as true;
How often have I lingered, dear,
With my fond heart pressed to thine,
And whispered in thy willing ear—
Thou art mine—thou art mine.
Then our divided lot became
Mingled in a world of care,
We had one wish, one life, one name—
Of joy and grief an equal share;
And after sorrow, deep and long,
Our love hath never known decline,
For I can say, in truthful song,
“Thou art mine—thou art mine.”
Mingled in a world of care,
We had one wish, one life, one name—
Of joy and grief an equal share;
And after sorrow, deep and long,
Our love hath never known decline,
For I can say, in truthful song,
“Thou art mine—thou art mine.”
| The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince | |