WHEN THOU ART NIGH.

When thou art nigh, it seems

A new creation round;

The sun hath fairer beams,

The lute a softer sound.

Tho’ thee alone I see,

And hear alone thy sigh,

‘ Tis light,‘ tis song to me,

Tis all — when thou art nigh.

When thou art nigh, no thought

Of grief comes o'er my heart;

I only think — could aught

But joy be where thou art?

Life seems a waste of breath,

When far from thee I sigh;

And death — ay, even death

Were sweet, if thou wert nigh.