Ask Not If Still I Love.
By Thomas Moore
Ask not if still I love,
Too plain these eyes have told thee;
Too well their tears must prove
How near and dear I hold thee.
If, where the brightest shine,
To see no form but thine,
To feel that earth can show
No bliss above thee,--
If this be love, then know
That thus, that thus, I love thee.
'Tis not in pleasure's idle hour
That thou canst know affection's power.
No, try its strength in grief or pain;
Attempt as now its bonds to sever,
Thou'lt find true love's a chain
That binds forever!