"I love you, papa" -- that was all she said, Her little palm pressed firmly into mine; And yet I think all heaven overhead Flashed at the words with rapture more divine. I think the angels hushed their symphony In joy that such a precious thing could be. "I love you," all I am and all sincere, -- From child to parent, youth to trembling age, Between the wedded lives of many a year, Or those that friendship holds in tutelage, -- The sweetest words that move the eager air, And why are they so hesitant and rare? "I love you," said to man, to God above, Said artlessly in all fidelities, Said happily, in ravishment of love, "I love you," those three words, -- why, all that is, The vast complex of time and circumstance, Is but a training for their utterance! |