Air—”How sweet the answer Echo makes.”
I love thine eyes of truth and light,
I love thy smile of joy;
But not to me their beams were bright,
If, as I did, so others might
Their light enjoy.
Canst thou be true to one alone,
True beyond all reproach—
Bound like the pilgrim to one goal,
Thrilled like the magnet by one pole—
Canst thou be such?
The head that pillows on my breast,
And calls that home its own,
Must grant to every thought confess’d
As calm and true a place of rest
To reign alone.
Ask I too much? Nay, think not so;
Folly might guess,
He with scant love content to go
Meaneth, in turn, to bestow
Even yet less.
But the true heart can claim in sooth
But what it gave—
Candour for candour, truth for truth,
An ebbless tide to age from youth
Even to the grave.