You read it in these spell-bound eyes,
And there alone should love be read;
You hear me say it all in sighs,
And thus alone should love be said.
Then dread no more; I will not speak;
Although my heart to anguish thrill,
I’ll spare the burning of your cheek,
And look it all in silence still.
Heard you the wish I dared to name,
To murmur on that luckless night,
When passion broke the bonds of shame,
And love grew madness in your sight?
Divinely through the graceful dance,
You seemed to float in silent song,
Bending to earth that sunny glance,
As if to light your steps along.
Oh! how could others dare to touch
That hallowed form with hand so free,
When but to look was bliss too much,
Too rare for all but Love and me!
With smiling eyes, that little thought,
How fatal were the beams they threw,
My trembling hands you lightly caught,
And round me, like a spirit, flew.
Heedless of all, but you alone,—
And you, at least, should not condemn.
If, when such eyes before me shone,
My soul forgot all eyes but them,—
I dared to whisper passion’s vow,—
For love had even of thought bereft me,—
Nay, half-way bent to kiss that brow,
But, with a bound, you blushing left me.
Forget, forget that night’s offence,
Forgive it, if, alas! you can;
’Twas love, ’twas passion—soul and sense—
’Twas all that’s best and worst in man.
That moment, did the assembled eyes
Of heaven and earth my madness view,
I should have seen, thro’ earth and skies,
But you alone—but only you.
Did not a frown from you reprove.
Myriads of eyes to me were none;
Enough for me to win your love,
And die upon the spot, when won.