Happy is he who sees thee smile,
Still happier he who hears thee speak,
He half a God who dares awhile
Breathing fond vows to flush thy cheek.

Thy hand to press—thy lip to touch—
O thou hast n'er such fovors given—
'Twere bliss too much for man too much
For all except a saint of Heaven!

To clasp thy form and hear thee sigh—
To feel and call thee all his own
Ah! that were happiness too high
For any but a God alone!