WOMAN'S LOVE.
1844
Oh! who shall tell of woman's love,
Or half its depth and durance prove—
The one fond passion of a heart,
Where every life-beat is a part:
Of her devotion, from the hour
When love lits up with magic power
A new existence, pure and bright,
With something of an angel light.
That treasured fulness of the heart,
Where every fairer, brighter part,
Concentrates in the one dear thought
(The lesson by love's language taught),
That neither smile, nor tear, nor sigh,
Can ere again pass lightly by.
No grief or care, no joy or woe,
Again the heart alone can know;
But each another's joy will share,
And doubly feel another's care,
Oh! who shall tell of woman's love,
Or half its depth and durance prove—
The one fond passion of a heart,
Where every life-beat is a part:
Of her devotion, from the hour
When love lits up with magic power
A new existence, pure and bright,
With something of an angel light.
That treasured fulness of the heart,
Where every fairer, brighter part,
Concentrates in the one dear thought
(The lesson by love's language taught),
That neither smile, nor tear, nor sigh,
Can ere again pass lightly by.
No grief or care, no joy or woe,
Again the heart alone can know;
But each another's joy will share,
And doubly feel another's care,
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