All that thou art, I thrillingly And sensibly do feel; For my eye doth see, and my ear doth hear, And my heart is not of steel;
I meet thee in the festal hall — I turn thee in the dance — And I wait, as would a worshipper, The giving of thy glance.
Thy beauty is as undenied As the beauty of a star; And thy heart beats just as equally, Whate'er thy praises are;
And so long without a parallel Thy loveliness hath shone, That, follow'd like the tided moon, Thou mov'st as calmly on.
Thy worth I, for myself, have seen — I know that thou art leal; Leal to a woman's gentleness, And thine own spirit's weal;
Thy thoughts are deeper than a dream, And holier than gay; And thy mind is a harp of gentle strings, Where angel fingers play.
I know all this — I feel all this — And my heart believes it true; And my fancy hath often borne me on, As a lover's fancies do;
And I have a heart, that is strong and deep, And would love with its human all, And it waits for a fetter that's sweet to wear, And would bound to a silken thrall.
But it loves not thee.— It would sooner bind Its thoughts to the open sky; It would worship as soon a familiar star, That is bright to every eye.
‘ Twere to love the wind that is sweet to all — The wave of the beautiful sea — ‘ Twere to hope for all the light in Heaven, To hope for the love of thee.
But wert thou lowly — yet leal as now; Rich but in thine own mind; Humble — in all but the queenly brow; And to thine own glory blind —
Were the world to prove but a faithless thing, And worshippers leave thy shrine — My love were, then, but a gift for thee, And my strong deep heart were thine.
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