"I love thee"

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!

I Love Thee, by Eliza Acton, 1799-1859.