Gerald Massey

* * *

No jewelled Beauty is my love,
    Yet in the heaven of her face,
There's such a radiant tenderness,
    She needs no other gift, or grace.
Her smile, and voice, around my heart
    In blessed light, and music, twine;
And dear, O very dear, to me,
    Is this sweet love of mine.

O joy ! to know there's one fond heart,
    That ever beateth true to me;
It sets mine leaping, like a lyre,
    When sweetest strings make melody.
My soul up-springs, a Deity—
    Heaven-crowned! to hear her voice
        divine,
And dear, O very dear to me,
    Is this sweet love of mine.

If ever I have sighed for wealth,
    Twas all for her dear sake, I trow,
And if I win Fame's victor-wreath,
    I'll twine it on her bonnie brow.
There may be forms more beautiful,
    And eyes of love, with sunnier shine,
But none, O none, so dear to me,
    As this sweet love of mine.