  Love is to life as perfume to the rose, A sweet unseen enjoyment that doth lend Rapture to beauty—so doth Nature send The harmony of happiness that flows Half-way between hot Passion’s leaps and throes And Apathy, where worn-out feelings end, Throughout the universe, there doth attend Upon all active ordering, repose. O Thou! the fair embodiment of good, Who first within me struck the chord of Love, Necessity of Life! in thee doth move The pure quintessence of pure womanhood, Without thy love my life would be as bare As fairest rose without its perfume rare. |
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