Dedication
To her who, cast with me in trying days,Stood in the place of health and power and praise;Who, when I thought all light was out, becameA lamp of hope that put my fears to shame;Who faced for love’s sole sake the life austereThat waits upon the man of letters here;Who, unawares, her deep affection showedBy many a touching little wifely mode;Whose spirit, self-denying, dear, divine,Its sorrows hid, so it might lessen mine—To her, my bright, best friend, I dedicateThis book of songs—‘t will help to compensateFor much neglect. The act, if not the rhyme,Will touch her heart, and lead her to the timeOf trials past. That which is most intenseWithin these leaves is of her influence;And if aught here is sweetened with a toneSincere, like love, it came of love alone.