Mine
Oh, let me love thee, for my life is lonely,
And fain my heart would hang its faith on thine;
My soul would thrill with wildest joy, if only
It knew and felt thee mine.
Mine, only mine, to prize with warm devotion,
And cherish with a lover's ceaseless care;
To smooth this rough world's path of rude commotion
And make it bright and fair.
Mine, only mine, in joy as well as sorrow,
Thy pure heart free from every taint of guile,
To drink fresh hope from those sweet eyes, and borrow
New courage from thy smile.
Mine, only mine, for ever and for ever,
Warm hand in hand, and faithful heart to heart,
In bonds that time is all too weak to sever,
And death must fail to part!
Mine midst the clanging din, the 'wildering rattle,
The glory of this stern world's strife begun;
Mine in the hazy tumult of the battle;
Mine when the victory's won!
Mine when this reeling earth is racked and quivering,
And worlds are tottering on the verge of night:
Mine when the host of stars, pallid and shivering,
Refuse to yield their light!
Mine through eternity's unnumbered ages,
In the hereafter world of light and bliss,
Where never sorrow reigns, nor tempest rages,
Nor hearts ache, as in this!
Then let me love thee, for my heart is straining
To fly away and rest itself on thine:
And, passion-tossed, my spirit is complaining,—
Oh, let thy love be mine!
No heart was made for loneliness or sadness—
Some other beats with true responsive thrill;
And love, though given all vainly and in madness,
Is sweet and holy still.
It is my faith that those who purely cherish
True love, no matter whether crowned or crossed,
Unite in that bright realm where grief must perish,
But nothing pure is lost.
Then, if not here, perhaps in those high regions,
In the great shadow of the eternal throne,
I'll single thee from all the shining legions,
And claim thee as mine own.
When those brown tresses wave in richer splendour,
Far from the wasting breath of earthly years,
And those large eyes, so lustrous and so tender,
Shall never dim with tears.
Behold; a glory purples all the meadows!
Thoughts rise as pure as childhood's happy dreams,
And through the twilight's gray far-folded shadows
Heaven's starry radiance gleams.
And fain my heart would hang its faith on thine;
My soul would thrill with wildest joy, if only
It knew and felt thee mine.
Mine, only mine, to prize with warm devotion,
And cherish with a lover's ceaseless care;
To smooth this rough world's path of rude commotion
And make it bright and fair.
Mine, only mine, in joy as well as sorrow,
Thy pure heart free from every taint of guile,
To drink fresh hope from those sweet eyes, and borrow
New courage from thy smile.
Mine, only mine, for ever and for ever,
Warm hand in hand, and faithful heart to heart,
In bonds that time is all too weak to sever,
And death must fail to part!
Mine midst the clanging din, the 'wildering rattle,
The glory of this stern world's strife begun;
Mine in the hazy tumult of the battle;
Mine when the victory's won!
Mine when this reeling earth is racked and quivering,
And worlds are tottering on the verge of night:
Mine when the host of stars, pallid and shivering,
Refuse to yield their light!
Mine through eternity's unnumbered ages,
In the hereafter world of light and bliss,
Where never sorrow reigns, nor tempest rages,
Nor hearts ache, as in this!
Then let me love thee, for my heart is straining
To fly away and rest itself on thine:
And, passion-tossed, my spirit is complaining,—
Oh, let thy love be mine!
No heart was made for loneliness or sadness—
Some other beats with true responsive thrill;
And love, though given all vainly and in madness,
Is sweet and holy still.
It is my faith that those who purely cherish
True love, no matter whether crowned or crossed,
Unite in that bright realm where grief must perish,
But nothing pure is lost.
Then, if not here, perhaps in those high regions,
In the great shadow of the eternal throne,
I'll single thee from all the shining legions,
And claim thee as mine own.
When those brown tresses wave in richer splendour,
Far from the wasting breath of earthly years,
And those large eyes, so lustrous and so tender,
Shall never dim with tears.
Behold; a glory purples all the meadows!
Thoughts rise as pure as childhood's happy dreams,
And through the twilight's gray far-folded shadows
Heaven's starry radiance gleams.
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