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I love you fondly, deeply, truly;
My heart rejoices with its load
Of fondness, all on you bestowed.
I smile and sigh,
I laugh and cry;
My feelings seem at times unruly,
And all because I love you.
I love you, and the knowledge real
Is sweetest that the heart can feel.
For all the world I would not lose
The glad truth that I love you.
I love you, darling, without measure,
Adore you more than I can tell,
Thy being o’er me casts a spell.
At times I’m sad,
Again I’m glad—
A mingling queer of pain and pleasure—
And all because I love you.
I love you, and would not conceal
The joy unspeakable I feel.
Naught can alter or destroy
The knowledge that I love you.
I love you. My whole heart you’ve taken;
But I have yours to fill the void,
And so my breast is overjoyed.
What joy is mine
When words of thine
Bid sorrow fly and hope awaken!
And all because I love you.
You may forsake me by-and-by,
But I will love you till I die,
For only death can steal the bliss
I feel because I love you.
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Self.
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All, all are selfish.
There is not one who does not live himself to please.
Life holds for each no other aim or object
Than to gratify and satisfy his own ambitions and desires.
We call those generous who deny themselves
To give to others,
But by those same denials
They are taking greater pleasures than they give,
For no one does or can give to another
More happiness than he himself receives.
Those are just who claim for others
The rights they for themselves exact.
Those are generous who would make for others
The opportunities they wish themselves.
The happiest are those who are to others kindest,
And who cause most happiness to all.
The great are those who make the world
The better by their deeds.
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In the Firelight.
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The daylight gone,
The curtains drawn,
The evening meal completed;
My bird abed,
With tiny head
’Neath golden wing secreted;
By firelight’s glare
And easy chair
And cosy cushions wooed,
Alone I sit,
With lamps unlit,
In peaceful solitude.
My tired feet
Soft slippers greet;
Unloosened hang my tresses;
My dressing gown,
As soft as down,
My weary form caresses.
The purring cat
Upon the mat
Beneath my feet is dozing.
The firelight falls
Upon the walls,
The pictures half exposing.
The flashing light,
Now dull, now bright,
Makes objects queer look queerer.
Above the shelf
I see myself
Reflected in the mirror.
The painted faces
Of the Graces
Each smiling at me seems.
Upon the stand
Close at my hand,
My gilt-edged Shakespeare gleams.
My fancy traces
Forms and faces
Among the glowing coals.
The fitful blaze
Incessant plays
At making fiery scrolls.
From silver vase
On dressing case
I scent the fragrant rose.
’Mid silence deep,
Inviting sleep,
My drooping eyelids close.
Come then, sweet dreams
Of pleasant themes,
And soothe me in my slumber;
My soul entice
To Paradise,
’Mid pleasures without number.
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To the Egotist.
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Think of this earth, this great revolving globe,
That whirls along its boundless path,
Through the immensity of space!
Think of the multitude of stars
That dot the midnight sky;
Think of the myriads more beyond,
That baffle man’s conception!
Think of a million suns and more,
Vast orbs of living fire;
Think of this endless wilderness of worlds,
The universe!
And what are you?