 | Songs and ballads |  |
54
A WORD OF THINE.
A word of thine—how hath it dwelt
Like music in my heart;
A look—how oft my soul hath knelt
And worshipped it, apart:
My spirit like a mirror seems,
That still, where'er I be,
In happy thoughts, or happier dreams,
Reflects but only thee,
My love,
Reflects but only thee!
Like music in my heart;
A look—how oft my soul hath knelt
And worshipped it, apart:
My spirit like a mirror seems,
That still, where'er I be,
In happy thoughts, or happier dreams,
Reflects but only thee,
My love,
Reflects but only thee!
I marvel what my life had been
If thee I ne'er had known?
Thy form, thy beauty, never seen;
Nor heard thy lips' dear tone:
It seems as if my heart were born
Thy shrine alone to be;
For every pulse from eve to morn
Still beats for only thee,
My love,
Still beats for only thee.
If thee I ne'er had known?
Thy form, thy beauty, never seen;
Nor heard thy lips' dear tone:
It seems as if my heart were born
Thy shrine alone to be;
For every pulse from eve to morn
Still beats for only thee,
My love,
Still beats for only thee.
| Songs and ballads | |