Ask not if still I love,

  Too plain these eyes have told thee;

Too well their tears must prove

  How near and dear I hold thee.

If, where the brightest shine,

To see no form but thine,

To feel that earth can show

  No bliss above thee,—

If this be love, then know

  That thus, that thus, I love thee.

'Tis not in pleasure's idle hour

That thou canst know affection's power.

No, try its strength in grief or pain;

  Attempt as now its bonds to sever,

Thou'lt find true love's a chain

  That binds forever!