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No jewelled beauty is my Love,
Yet in her earnest face
There's such a world of tenderness,
She needs no other grace.
Her smiles, and voice, around my life
In 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,
Beats ever true to me:
It sets mine leaping like a lyre,
In sweetest melody:
My soul up-springs, a Deity!
To hear her voice divine,
And dear, O very dear to me,
Is this sweet Love of mine.

 

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