Upon thy lips now lies
The music-dew of love;
And in thy deep blue eyes,
More mild than Heaven above
The meekness of the dove.

More sweet than the perfume
Of snow-white jessamine
When it is first in bloom,
Is that sweet breath of thine,
Which mingles now with mine.

Like an Æolian sound
Out of an ocean shell,
Which fills the air around
With music such as fell
From lips of Israfel;

Over thy lips now flow
Out of thy heart, for me,
A song which none can know
But him who hopes to be
Forever more with thee.

And like the snow-white dove
Frightened from earth at even
On tempests borne above
My swift-winged soul is driven
Upon thy song to heaven!