Thou gentle and kind one,
Who com'st o'er my dreams,
Like the gales of the west,
Or the music of streams;
Oh, softest and dearest,
Can that time e'er be,
When I could be forgetful
Or scornful of thee?
No! my soul might be dark,
Like a landscape in shade,
And for thee not the half
Of its love be display'd,
But one ray of thy kindness
Would banish my pain,
And soon kiss every feature
To brightness again.
And if, in contending
With men and the world,
My eye might be fierce,
Or my brow might be curl'd;
That brow on thy bosom
All smooth'd would recline,
And that eye melt in kindness
When turn'd upon thine.
If faithful in sorrow,
More faithful in joy--
Thou shouldst find that no change
Could affection destroy;
All profit, all pleasure,
As nothing would be,
And each triumph despised
Unpartaken by thee.