  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 yet 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 oh, 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. Marian. |
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