Ask me not with simple grace,
Pearls of thought to string for thee;
For upon thy smiling face,
Perfect gems I see--
In thine eyes of beauty trace
Lights that fadeless be.
Bid me not from Memory's land,
Cull fair flowers of rich perfume;
Love will shew with trembling hand,
Where far fairer bloom--
Clustering on thy cheek they stand,
Blushing deep--for whom?
Bid me not with Fancy's gale
Wake the music of a sigh;
From thy breath a sweeter tale,
Silver-winged, floats by;
Melodies that never fail,
Heard when thou art nigh!
Ask me not--yet, oh! for thee
Dearer thoughts my bosom fill,
Dimmed with tears I cannot see
To do thy gracious will:
Take, then, my prayer--In heaven may we
Behold thee lovelier still!