A Mirage.

A poem by William Schwenck Gilbert

Were I thy bride,
Then the whole world beside
Were not too wide
To hold my wealth of love
Were I thy bride!
Upon thy breast
My loving head would rest,
As on her nest
The tender turtle dove
Were I thy bride!

This heart of mine
Would be one heart with thine,
And in that shrine
Our happiness would dwell
Were I thy bride!
And all day long
Our lives should be a song:
No grief, no wrong
Should make my heart rebel
Were I thy bride!

The silvery flute,
The melancholy lute,
Were night owl's hoot
To my low-whispered coo
Were I thy bride!
The skylark's trill
Were but discordance shrill
To the soft thrill
Of wooing as I'd woo
Were I thy bride!

The rose's sigh
Were as a carrion's cry
To lullaby
Such as I'd sing to thee,
Were I thy bride!
A feather's press
Were leaden heaviness
To my caress.
But then, unhappily,
I'm not thy bride!

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