  O THE voice of woman’s love! What a bosom-stirring word! Was a sweeter ever uttered, Was a dearer ever heard, Than woman’s love? How it melts upon the ear, How it nourishes the heart! Cold, ah! cold, must his appear, Who hath never shared a part Of woman’s love. ’Tis pleasure to the mourner, ’Tis freedom to the thrall; The pilgrimage of many, And resting place of all, Is woman’s love. ’Tis the gem of beauty’s birth, It competes with joys above; What were angels upon earth, If without a woman’s love— A woman’s love? |
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