To Thee

I could not tell thee if I would
     How dear thou art to me;
For love is measured not by words
    The love I bear to thee;
I hear with pleasure many a name
    Thine hath a stronger spell
Tis linked with all the hopes and joys
    That in my bosom dwell.

There's many a voice I love to hear
    Ring out in gladsome tone.
But thine is sweeter far, and hath
    A music all its own.
It cheered me when the hand of care
    Lay heavy on my brow
I would 'twere more than fancy's dream
    That I can hear it now.

I love to press the proffered hand
    Of many a cherished friend
For much of love and sympathy
    In such a greeting blend;
But more I love to press thine own
    As I have often done
And think of that expected time
    When we shall both be one.

A thousand objects claim my love,
    And each one shares a part;
But next to Heaven, I give to thee
     The feelings of my heart;
For thee it pours its treasures forth
     In one deep flowing stream,
Of stronger and purer love
    Thy fancy could not dream.

S.M. Edelen