Page:Poems Welby.djvu/175

I NEVER HAVE LOVED THEE.

I never have loved thee; yet, strange though it be,
So soft are the feelings I cherish for thee,
That the wildest of passions could never impart
More joy to my soul, or more bliss to my heart;
They come o'er my breast in my happiest hours,
They come like the south wind, that ruffles the flowers—
A thrilling of softness, a thrilling of bliss—
Say, is there no name for a passion like this?

It cannot be friendship, it cannot be love;
Yet I know the sweet feeling descends from above;
For it takes from my bosom no portion of ease,
Yet adds all the raptures, the pleasures of these;
For so soft the emotion my spirit has nursed,
It is warm as the last, and more pure than the first;
For my heart when near thine grows as soft as a dove,
Yet it cannot be friendship, it cannot be love.

I know we must part, yet, united in soul,
Our thoughts, like one current, together will roll,
And O! should my soul be the first to ascend,
When an angel in heaven I'll plead for my friend;