NOT occasion makes the thief;
She’s the greatest of the whole;
For Love’s relics, to my grief,
From my aching heart she stole.
She hath given it to thee,–
All the joy my life had known,
So that, in my poverty,
Life I seek from thee alone.
Yet compassion greets me straight
In the lustre of thine eye,
And I bless my newborn fate,
As within thine arms I lie.
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