When Thou Art Nigh.

When thou art nigh, it seems A new creation round; The sun hath fairer beams, The lute a softer sound. Tho' thee alone I see, And hear alone thy sigh, 'Tis light, 'tis song to me, Tis all—when thou art nigh. When thou art nigh, no thought Of grief comes o'er my heart; I only think—could aught But joy be where thou art? Life seems a waste of breath, When far from thee I sigh; And death—ay, even death Were sweet, if thou wert nigh.