EXTRACTS FROM MY POCKET BOOK.
Literary Gazette 27th September 1823, Page 619
Yes, still truly thine! Ah, they never Love knew
Who drew him with wings of the Iris' hue;
Love is still the same, changeless, 'mid smiles and 'mid tears,
The anchor for hope, and the shelter for fears.
Thy fate may be darkness,—I ask but to share
The sting of each sorrow, the cloud of each care;
Thy brow may be sad, but the shade there will be
More dear than the smile of another to me.
They bid me fly from thee, and say that thy love
Is like the false fetters they throw round the dove;
But the chain thou hast linked is more precious to me
Than liberty, if it divides me from thee.
Howe'er rough thy path, that path I can bear,—
A dungeon were brightness if thou too wert there;
Like oil to the lamp is thy love to my heart,—
’Tis life to be near thee, and death if we part!