If woman's eyes were sealed in night,
And ne'er again might charm our sight
With glance divine,
How many a heart now wrung with pain,
That hopes, yet knows it hopes in vain,
Would cease to pine!

How many a folly, many a crime,
Would stain no more the leaves of time,
And fade away;
But oh! how many a virtue too,
With love, dear love, would bid adieu
To earth for aye.

Yes! there are spots full many a one
In the clear lustre of the sun;
Yet who desires
To see 'that dread, that awful day,'
When the prevailing soul of day
Shall lose his fires?

But life and heat were little worth,
Should love be banish'd from the earth;
And breath can give
No joy, if all the fires it fan
Grow cold within the heart of man;
Clay cannot live.