A Song

written by


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  I

No riches from his scanty store
 My lover could impart;
He gave a boon I valued more —
 He gave me all his heart!

  II

His soul sincere, his generous worth,
 Might well this bosom move;
And when I asked for bliss on earth,
 I only meant his love.

  III

But now for me, in search of gain
 From shore to shore he flies;
Why wander riches to obtain,
 When love is all I prize?

  IV

The frugal meal, the lowly cot
 If blest my love with thee!
That simple fare, that humble lot,
 Were more than wealth to me.

  V

While he the dangerous ocean braves,
 My tears but vainly flow:
Is pity in the faithless waves
 To which I pour my woe?

  VI

The night is dark, the waters deep,
 Yet soft the billows roll;
Alas! at every breeze I weep —
 The storm is in my soul.

© Helen Maria Williams