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 straightIn the lustre of thine eye, And I bless my newborn fate,As within thine arms I lie.
1815.
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