Song

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?