If Love were not, the wilding rose
Would in its leafy heart enclose
No chalice of perfume;
By mossy bank, in glen or grot,
No bird would build, if Love were not,
No flow'r complacent bloom;
The sunset clouds would lose their dyes,
The light would fade from beauty's eyes;
The stars their fires consume.
And something miss'd from hall and cot
Would leave the world, if Love were not,
A wilderness of gloom.