’Tis true: the rose has left thy cheek
Thine eyes no longer shine;
And vulgar soul in vain may seek
The charm so priz’d by mine:
But there is one which loves to trace
Amidst the ruins of thy face,
Departed Beauty’s shrine:
There is an eye that could not bear
To lose the light still living there!
Yet it is sad to think those eyes
Now dim and sightless grown,
Had once the beam which love supplies
And shone on me alone:
But sweeter ’tis to mourn thee blind
Than from unclouded eyes to find
The ray of kindness flown
O! it had been a pang too dire
To see that cherish’d ray retire!
And thou art blest; — for life’s decay
Thine eye shall never see;
Nor mark the cold and blighted sway
Of envious Time in me:
Thou canst not watch my transient sleep
Nor grieve while by thy side I weep
For joys withheld from thee; —
Thou seest not how I hate the light
Which brings no blessing to thy sight!
Yet those dim eyes a speech possess
Which Beauty’s voice excels;
The pow’r of brightest eyes is less
Than in thy darkness dwells.
A light which asks no sunbeam’s aid,
Like stars that reign in midnight shade,
Thy earthly gloom dispels; —
Fate may thy mortal sight remove
But gives thee still the eye of love!