How shall I woo her!—I will stand
Beside her when she sings;
And watch that fine and fairy hand
Flit o’er the quivering strings:
And I will tell her I have heard,
Though sweet her song may be,
A voice whose every whispered word
Was more than song to me.
How shall I woo her?—I will gaze
In sad and silent trance
On those blue eyes, whose liquid rays
Look love in every glance:
And I will tell her, eyes more bright,
Though bright her own may beam,
Will fling a deeper spell to-night
Upon me in my dream.
How shall I woo her?—I will try
The charms of olden time,
And swear by earth, and sea, and sky,
And rave in prose and rhyme:
And I will tell her, when I bent,
My knee in other years,—
I was not half so eloquent,—
I could not speak for tears!
How shall I woo her?—I will bow
Before the holy shrine;
And pray the prayer and vow the vow,
And press her lips to mine;
And I will tell her, when she parts
From passion’s thrilling kiss,
That memory to many hearts
Is dearer far than bliss.
Away, away, the chords are mute,
The bond is rent in twain;
You cannot wake that silent lute,
Nor clasp those links again;
Love’s toil, I know, is little cost,
Love’s perjury is light sin;
But souls that lose what I have lost,
What have they left to win?