70
to .
I seek not—I love not the balls of the gay, Where my lone spirit pines for its dear ones away; I see not your beauty when deck'd for the dance, When blossom and gem mock the blush and the glance; You come not to me in the glow of your pride, For you know I've a welcome, but nothing beside; Yet you bring me a smile that is sweeter by far Than the gay one whose light is the festival's star; While with heart full of love, as your hands are of toys, You bless sunny childhood by sharing its joys. Oh! dearer its innocent rapture than all The praises that follow the belle of the ball; And you seem at such moments more graceful to me, Than you would when array'd for the festival's glee.
