Place thy lilly-white hand in mine,
Maid with the wealth of golden hair;—
Tresses, that gleaming like gold, entwine,
Round about a sweet face so fair.
Sweetheart, oh! whisper once more the words,
That came from those coral lips of thine,
And bound thee to me by those silken cords,—
And place thy lilly-white hand in mine,
Place thy lilly-white hand in mine,
That its gentle pressure may tell my heart
That the idol round which I had reared a shrine,
Is mine,—mine,—never from me to part.
Sweetest and fairest of woman kind!
Gentlest, kindest, lovingest, best,—
Virtues with beauties are so combined,
That manhood pays homage at love's behest.
Place thy lilly-white hand in mine,
Let its velvet touch on my horny palm,
Comfort, encourage, embolden, refine,—
This grosser clay, by its subtle charm.
Long as life lasts let me clasp thy hand,
As a pledge of our oneness, existing now;
And when I depart for the better land,
Let it rest for a while on my death-cold brow.
Falsehood, treachery, sickness, pain,—
I have endured, yet hopefully stand
Strong in the thought I have lived not in vain.
Had I won but this treasure,—this lilly-white hand.