Nightingales singing an exquisite tune

All the sweet music for me and for you,

Saying my prayers by the light of the moon,

Happy the prayers that are utter'd for two!

Stars in the depth of a fathomless space,

Summer-blue sky by no shadow o'ercast,

Joy pointing on to a far-away grace

Brighter than e'en the beneficent past;

Trouble to measureless distances fled,

Death too remote to be worthy a sigh—

Can there be any one sorry or dead?

Sorrow or death 'neath a summer-blue sky!

Was there a moment we never had met?

Was there a time unexalted by him?

Shone the same lustre in suns when they set?

Sparkled the river with joy to the brim?

Glitter'd the blue over heaven and sea?

Flutter'd the birds to a musical call?

Could he be happy unconscious of me?

And, without Harry, what was I at all?

I stand on a rock where two rivers meet,

With a life behind and a life before;

And one is ebbing away from my feet,

And the other is rising more and more.

Ah, poor little maiden! ah, dear little wife!

Ah, days that are past and days that will come!

The past is nothing—this only is life;

I am going with him and am going Home.

And such a sweet pretty home as it is!

What shall I do with my exquisite bliss?

How can I ever be charming enough,

Where rumpling a roseleaf will make the path rough?

How can I thank the great Father above

For showing His child such abundance of love?

With Harry a home in a hovel were sweet,

And this is a palace that lies at my feet.

I look at the gardens spread out in the sun,

Where every rosebud a prize might have won;

Where lilies lift up tinted crowns to the skies,

And clematis strike you aghast by their size;

Where lawns smooth as ice tempt your feet as they pass,

Though only a fairy should tread on such grass;

And big forest trees on the slopes, spread afar

Those branches that grander than anything are.

I sweep through the rooms where the mirrors portray

A slender young thing in a robe of pale gray,

And catching quick glimpses, now here and now there,

I own with delight she is graceful and fair;

I study the creature, and smile as I see

How handsome a woman one day she may be;

I draw myself up with a stately expanse

And try to look grand, while I'm longing to dance;

I flourish, I curtsey, I slip and I slide;—

This will do for a wife, this is fit for a bride.

I smile and I bow, in a dignified way,

And even shake hands with the lady in gray;

Then draw back astonish'd, afraid to offend,

It is all a mistake, and she is not a friend.

In a moment sweeps over the vision a change

Deliciously sweet and suddenly strange,

A blush in the cheek and a light in the eyes;—

A step in the passage, to meet it she flies,

And still in the mirror I mark the embrace,

Where the strong manly arms hide the small blushing face.

When the sun rises early to call people out,

There is nothing so sweet as to wander about,

A hand on an arm or an arm round a waist,

In lover-like leisure or holiday haste.

Then, all is delightful we see or we hear,

And speaking or silence are equally dear;

The earth at our feet of an emerald hue,

The Heaven above us incredibly blue,

The flowers baptiz'd with miraculous dew.

While yet the sky blushes to welcome the sun,

Through the gay gardens we stroll and we run;

In fields where lambs gambol less happy than we,

Glittering grass makes a sheen like the sea;

Birds unexpectedly set up a chant,

Adding a joy that the world seem'd to want.

Creation is made for our pleasure alone:

Adam and Eve, with no sin to atone,

Knowledge untasted, less rapture have known!

Keeping by Harry, a friend who is fond

Follows as closely as follow he can:

Is there an earthly affection beyond

The love a good dog feels for a good man?

If twenty people fling down twenty gloves

Our Rover has never been known to fail;

He picks out the glove of the man he loves,

And brings it triumphantly, wagging his tail.

Rover and I, under shadowy yew,

List'ning for Harry's dear step on the path—

He always hears it the first of the two,

Which gives me a feeling half joy, half wrath.

By divers states can our spirits be mov'd

Our hearts will answer to many a touch;

We love one creature for being much lov'd,

And we love another for loving much.

By delicate touches our souls are stirr'd,

Fraught with a meaning life never reveals:

I wonder the Bible says not a word

Of the faithful love that a good dog feels.

Good are the mornings for birds in a nest,

Fluttering out from a beautiful home;

Good are the mornings, but evenings are best,

Seeking its shelter nor asking to roam.

Life, like a secret, is too much for one—

May be too little where numbers are great—

All may be vanity under the sun,

But all is charming when done tête à tête.

Neighbours will call—what a trouble it is!

Dinners and parties are made for our sake:

Why must society trouble our bliss?

Dinners and neighbours are quite a mistake!

Drest as a bride, I must dine at the Grange;

Harry beside me, I have not a care;

Only it seems so exceedingly strange

Not to be thinking of meeting him there!

Jane does my hair with a skill, I confess,

Smilingly thinking of days that are gone,

When for a party I ran up to dress

With neither a husband nor maid of my own.

Life that is past, did you certainly pass?

When were you actual? how did you change?

Who is this girl that I see in the glass

Thinking of things that are happy and strange?

Who is this man who may enter the room,

Placidly certain his presence must please,

Settle her colours, select her perfume,

Hands in his pockets serenely at ease:

Who can the girl be, and who is the man?

Light-hearted creatures who live but to love!

'Tis the result of the Angels' kind plan,

One of the marriages made up above!

Hand laid in hand to the stairs we advance,

Feet scarcely touching the carpet at