Song

O THE voice of woman’s love!
  What a bosom-stirring word!
Was a sweeter ever uttered,
  Was a dearer ever heard,
    Than woman’s love?

How it melts upon the ear,
  How it nourishes the heart!
Cold, ah! cold, must his appear,
  Who hath never shared a part
    Of woman’s love.

’Tis pleasure to the mourner,
  ’Tis freedom to the thrall;
The pilgrimage of many,
  And resting place of all,
    Is woman’s love.

’Tis the gem of beauty’s birth,
  It competes with joys above;
What were angels upon earth,
  If without a woman’s love—
    A woman’s love?