I love thee, as I love the calm
   Of sweet, star-lighted hours!
I love thee, as I love the balm
   Of early jes'mine flow'rs.

I love thee, as I love the last
   Rich smile of fading day,
Which lingereth, like the look we cast,
   On rapture pass'd away.

I love thee as I love the tone
   Of some soft-breathing flute
Whose soul is wak'd for me alone,
   When all beside is mute.

I love thee as I love the first
   Young violet of the spring;
Or the pale lily, April-nurs'd,
   To scented blossoming.

I love thee, as I love the full,
   Clear gushings of the song,
Which lonely-sad-and beautiful-
   At night-fall floats along,

Pour'd by the bul-bul forth to greet
   The hours of rest and dew;
When melody and moonlight meet
   To blend their charm, and hue.

I love thee, as the glad bird loves
   The freedom of its wing,
On which delightedly it moves
   In wildest wandering.

I love thee as I love the swell,
   And hush, of some low strain,
Which bringeth, by its gentle spell,
   The past to life again.

Such is the feeling which from thee
   Nought earthly can allure:
'Tis ever link'd to all I see
   Of gifted-high-and pure!