I'VE tried, in much bewilderment, to find,
Under which phase of loveliness, in thee,
I love thee best; but, oh, my wandering mind,
Hovers o'er many sweets, as doth a bee,
And all I feel, is contradictory.
I love to see thee gay; because thy smile,
Is sweeter than the sweetest thing, I know;
And, then, thy limpid eyes, are all the while,
Sparkling and dancing; and thy fair cheeks glow,
With such a sunset lustre, that e'en so,
I love to see thee gay.
I love to see thee sad; for then, thy face
Expresseth an angelic misery;
Thy tears are shed, with such a gentle grace;
Thy words fall soft, yet sweet as words can be,
That, though 'tis selfish, I confess, in me,
I love to see thee sad.
I love to hear thee speak, because thy voice,
Than music's self, is still more musical,
Its tones make every living thing rejoice;
And I, when, on mine ear those accents fall,
In sooth, I do believe, that, most of all,
I love to hear thee speak.
Yet, no! I love thee mute; for, then, thine eyes
Express so much, thou hast no need of speech,
And, there's a language, that in silence lies,
When two full hearts look fondness, each to each,
Love's language, that I fain to thee, would teach,
And so, I love thee mute.
Thus, I have come to the conclusion sweet,
Nothing thou dost, can less than perfect be;
All beauties and all virtues, in thee meet;
Yet one thing more, I'd fain behold in thee,
A little love, a little love, for me.