I Love Thee.

I love thee - I love thee!
'Tis all that I can say; -
It is my vision in the night,
My dreaming in the day;
The very echo of my heart,
The blessing when I pray:
I love thee - I love thee!
Is all that I can say.

I love thee - I love thee!
Is ever on my tongue;
In all my proudest poesy
That chorus still is sung;
It is the verdict of my eyes,
Amidst the gay and young:
I love thee - I love thee!
A thousand maids among.

I love thee - I love thee!
Thy bright hazel glance,
The mellow lute upon those lips,
Whose tender tones entrance;
But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs
That still these words enhance,
I love thee - I love thee!
Whatever be thy chance.

Thomas Hood

Thomas Hood, born May 23, 1799, and passed away on May 3, 1845, was a British humorist and poet renowned for his comic verse and sharp satire. His most famous works include 'The Song of the Shirt' and 'The Bridge of Sighs,' which highlighted social issues and the plight of the poor. Hood's legacy is celebrated for blending humor with a deep empathy for human suffering, making his poetry both entertaining and thought-provoking.

Thomas Hood

The Broken Dish.

Thomas Hood, Simple Poetry

Etching Moralised. To A Noble Lady.

Thomas Hood, Simple Poetry

The Compass, With Variations.[1]

Thomas Hood, Simple Poetry

Sonnet.

Thomas Hood, Simple Poetry

English

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I Love But Thee.

If, after all, you still will doubt and fear me,
    And think this heart to other loves will stray,
If I must swear, then, lovely doubter, hear me;
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    I love but thee--I love but thee!

By those dark eyes, where light is ever playing,
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And by those lips, which give whate'er thou'rt saying,
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By that fair brow, where Innocence reposes,
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Love Thee?

Love thee?--so well, so tenderly
    Thou'rt loved, adored by me,
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty,
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    Life's cup before me lay,
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Love thee?--so well, so tenderly,
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Without thy smile, the monarch's lot
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Thee, Thee, Only Thee.

The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking,
The night's long hours still find me thinking
        Of thee, thee, only thee.
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Whatever in fame's high path could waken
My spirit once, is now forsaken
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Like shores, by which some headlong bark
    To the ocean hurries, resting never,
Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark,
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I have not a joy but of thy bringing,
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Tis All For Thee.

If life for me hath joy or light,
        'Tis all from thee,
My thoughts by day, my dreams by night,
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My zest in joy, my balm in woe,
To those dear eyes of thine I owe,
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My heart, even ere I saw those eyes,
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When Fame would call me to her heights,
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Love Thee, Dearest? Love Thee?

Love thee, dearest? love thee?
    Yes, by yonder star I swear,
Which thro' tears above thee
    Shines so sadly fair;
Tho' often dim,
With tears, like him,
Like him my truth will shine,
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Leave thee, dearest? leave thee?
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A cloud of night
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Love's Light Summer-Cloud.

Pain and sorrow shall vanish before us--
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All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er us
    Love's light summer-cloud only shall cast.
        Oh, if to love thee more
        Each hour I number o'er--
        If this a passion be
        Worthy of thee,
Then be happy, for thus I adore thee.
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    Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast.
Rest, dear bosom, no sorrows shall pain thee,
    Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou steal;
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    Tears of rapture alone shalt thou feel.
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