To One

I love thee, and my trembling lyre Will learn no other strain; I marvel if thy gentle heart Will ever cease disdain; I marvel if our future lives, Will mingle into one, And glitter like a happy stream, In an unclouded sun.

I see that mid a wooing throng, Thou art a central star, And vying youths, with noble pride, Have brought their gifts from far: I only think the smiles thou giv'st, So freely unto them, If given to me, would bless me more, Than thrones or diadem.

I love thee, and this throbbing heart, From thrall no longer free, Must heave in joy, or ache with wo, Till Death's dark hour, for thee. I feel that I must know thy love, Or all of life will be One long, deep wail, one throb of pain, One speechless agony.