Love Hath a Language

Love hath a language of his own, --

A voice that goes

From heart to heart, -- whose mystic tones

Love only knows.

The lotus flower, whose leaves I now

Kiss silently,

Far more than words will tell thee how

I worship thee.

The mirror, which to thee I hold, --

Which when imprest

With thy bright looks, I turn and fold

To this fond breast, --

Does it not speak, beyond all spells

Of poet's art,

How deep thy hidden image dwells

In this hush'd heart?