TO M. J. R.Isthere within my heart a spotWhere thy bright image liveth not,In its most joyful guise?Ah, no! though all may be forgot,Save sorrow, care, and pain,Yet it securely liesWithin my bosom's secret bowers;Like dew, descending from above,On Autumn's seared and withered flowers,Reviving it againTo happiness and love.
Isthere within my heart a spotWhere thy bright image liveth not,In its most joyful guise?Ah, no! though all may be forgot,Save sorrow, care, and pain,Yet it securely liesWithin my bosom's secret bowers;Like dew, descending from above,On Autumn's seared and withered flowers,Reviving it againTo happiness and love.
Isthere within my heart a spotWhere thy bright image liveth not,In its most joyful guise?Ah, no! though all may be forgot,Save sorrow, care, and pain,Yet it securely liesWithin my bosom's secret bowers;Like dew, descending from above,On Autumn's seared and withered flowers,Reviving it againTo happiness and love.
Isthere within my heart a spotWhere thy bright image liveth not,In its most joyful guise?Ah, no! though all may be forgot,Save sorrow, care, and pain,Yet it securely liesWithin my bosom's secret bowers;Like dew, descending from above,On Autumn's seared and withered flowers,Reviving it againTo happiness and love.
Isthere within my heart a spot
Where thy bright image liveth not,
In its most joyful guise?
Ah, no! though all may be forgot,
Save sorrow, care, and pain,
Yet it securely lies
Within my bosom's secret bowers;
Like dew, descending from above,
On Autumn's seared and withered flowers,
Reviving it again
To happiness and love.