by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
And in life's noisiest hour,
There whispers still the ceaseless love of thee,
The heart's self-solace and soliloquy.
You mould my hopes, you fashion me within ;
And to the leading love-throb in the heart
Thro' all my being, thro' my pulse's beat ;
You lie in all my many thoughts, like light,
Like the fair light of dawn, or summer eve
On rippling stream, or cloud-reflecting lake.
And looking to the heaven, that bends above you,
How oft! I bless the lot that made me love you.