Goldfinch (1)/Oh!'tis sweet' to think

Oh! 'tis sweet to think.

Oh! ’tis sweet to think, that, where'r we rove,
We are sure to find something blissful and dear
And that, when we’re far from the lips that we love
We have to make love to the lips we are near
The heart, like a tendril, accustom’d to cling,
Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone
But will lean to the nearest, and loveliest thing,
It can twine with itself, and make closely its own.
Then oh! what pleasure, where’er we rove,
To be doom’d to find something still that is dear,
And to know, when from the lips we love,
We have but to make love to the lips we are near.

’Twere a shame, when flowers around us rise,
To make light of the rest, if the rose is not there;
And the world’s so rich in resplendent eyes,
’Twere a pity to limit one’s love to a pair.
Love’s wing and the peacock’s are nearly alike,
They are both of them bright, but they’re changeable too;
And wherever a new beam of beauty can strike,
It will tincture love's plume with a different hue.
Then, oh! what pleasure, where’er we rove,
To be doom'd to find something still that is dear,
And to know, when far from the lips we love,
We have to make love to the lips we are near,