I Have No Parting Sigh To Give,

There Is The Cause For Pleasure And For Pain: But Music Moves Us, And We Know Not Why? We Feel The Tears, But Cannot Trace Their Source. Is It The Language Of Some Other State, Born Of Its Memory! For What Can Wake The Soul's Strong Instinct Of Another World, Like Music！

I Would Give Worlds, Could I Believe One-half That Is Profess'd Me; Affection! Could I Think It Thee, When Flattery Has Caress'd Me.

How Beautiful, Buoyant, And Glad Is Morning! The First Sunshine On The Leaves: The First Wind, Laden With The First Breath Of The Flowers—that Deep Sigh With Which They Seem To Waken From Sleep; The First Dew, Untouched Even By The Light Foot Of The Early Hare; The First Chirping Of The Rousing Birds, As If Eager To Begin Song And Flight; All Is Redolent Of The Strength Given By Rest, And The Joy Of Conscious Life.

I Do Love Violets; They Tell The History Of Woman's Love.

So Much To Win, So Much To Lose, No Marvel That I Fear To Choose.