 | Lays of Leisure Hours |  |
I CAN BUT SAY—I LOVE!
Some, some may pour their passion forth
In words of rich and feeling worth,
And well express and well explain
The rapture of that costly pain,
And wreak on utterance strong the whole—
Of that sweet madness of the Soul,
And pity raise and feeling move—
And I—I can but say—I love!
In words of rich and feeling worth,
And well express and well explain
The rapture of that costly pain,
And wreak on utterance strong the whole—
Of that sweet madness of the Soul,
And pity raise and feeling move—
And I—I can but say—I love!
470
Oh! some in Inspiration's tone
May make their deep emotions known—
And lofty argument and high
Build on their heart's idolatry,
And breathe with burning words of fire
Thoughts, Passion's Soul might well respire,
And soar to starry heights above—
And I—I can but say—I love!
May make their deep emotions known—
And lofty argument and high
Build on their heart's idolatry,
And breathe with burning words of fire
Thoughts, Passion's Soul might well respire,
And soar to starry heights above—
And I—I can but say—I love!
Some may, with full and gushing strains,
Dwell on Love's pleasures and his pains,
Discoursing with elaborate art
On the rich secrets of the Heart,
Pourtraying with consummate skill
Each precious throb—each priceless thrill—
And paint the Passion that they prove—
And I—I can but say—I love!
Dwell on Love's pleasures and his pains,
Discoursing with elaborate art
On the rich secrets of the Heart,
Pourtraying with consummate skill
Each precious throb—each priceless thrill—
And paint the Passion that they prove—
And I—I can but say—I love!
With streams of glowing eloquence,
With fervid language, and intense,
Some may to all the World, proclaim
The ardour of their bosom's flame,
And Strike-strike with hand of fire the chords,
And weave a dazzling web of words,
(Subtle as those Arachne wove)
While I—I can but say—I love!
With fervid language, and intense,
471
The ardour of their bosom's flame,
And Strike-strike with hand of fire the chords,
And weave a dazzling web of words,
(Subtle as those Arachne wove)
While I—I can but say—I love!
I can but say I love—but sigh
That sweet truth forth all faulteringly—
And if I could I would not seek
The secret of my Soul to speak!
Oh! all who truly love must feel
Weak language faileth to reveal
Such Passion as the Impassioned prove—
And then—they can but say—they love!
That sweet truth forth all faulteringly—
And if I could I would not seek
The secret of my Soul to speak!
Oh! all who truly love must feel
Weak language faileth to reveal
Such Passion as the Impassioned prove—
And then—they can but say—they love!
Howe'er the eloquent may strive,
'Tis but the outlines that they give
Of that deep Truth whose founts amid
The Soul's own living depths lie hid;
Oh! never mortal tongue shall tell
The mystery indescribable—
Then still let me, and let the dove,
In murmurs breathe—“I love—I love!”
'Tis but the outlines that they give
Of that deep Truth whose founts amid
The Soul's own living depths lie hid;
472
The mystery indescribable—
Then still let me, and let the dove,
In murmurs breathe—“I love—I love!”
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