The Question, upon Being Told in Jest by Mr Stockton that He Was Not Loved Much
Is it to love to muse the live long day
On one dear object tho he's far away
And when the shadows usher in the night
His form in dreams to swim before the sight
Is it to love — when in the social train
He mixes not the mirth and song are vain
Nor wit nor sentiment nor attic ease
When he is absent have the power to please
Is it to love to feel the vital tide
Mount to the cheek and then in haste subside
The pulse to tremble and the heart to melt
Then sink away as if they never felt
All this and more a thousand times I prove
Then say ye wise ones what is this but love
On one dear object tho he's far away
And when the shadows usher in the night
His form in dreams to swim before the sight
Is it to love — when in the social train
He mixes not the mirth and song are vain
Nor wit nor sentiment nor attic ease
When he is absent have the power to please
Is it to love to feel the vital tide
Mount to the cheek and then in haste subside
The pulse to tremble and the heart to melt
Then sink away as if they never felt
All this and more a thousand times I prove
Then say ye wise ones what is this but love
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