Oh! say not, that I love not nature's face,
And that I cannot know her beauty's power!
Pleasure is unto me a lonely thing:
Deep sorrow, or rapt joy, I cannot feel,
But in still solitude: I may not brook
Another's eye should mark my secret thoughts.
Since the first hour that tears or smiles were mine,
I never sought communion in my grief,
And none could share my silent happiness.
If thou would'st know how I do love to gaze
On nature's face, spring from thy sleepless couch,
And mark the moonlight, when no one may see
Thy deep emotion, and no idle word
Of heartless praise disturb thy soul-felt spell;
Gaze on the stars, till thou dost deem the gale
That murmurs by is music from the spheres,
No taint of earth upon thy dream of heaven;
Watch the bright farewell of the sun, when he
Seeks the white bosom of his ocean-love.
Look on those glorious tints, till thou dost wish
Thou wert a beautiful shadow like to them—
A transitory, but a brilliant thing,
Born amid glory, past away in light;
Ah! then, indeed, nature has magic charms,
And I do love to dwell upon them then.