1 There Is A Mystic Thread Of Life So Dearly Wreath'D With Mine Alone, That Destiny'S Relentless Knife At Once Must Sever Both, Or None. 2 There Is A Form On Which These Eyes Have Fondly Gazed With Such Delight - By Day, That Form Their Joy Supplies, And Dreams Restore It, Through The Night. 3 There Is A Voice Whose Tones Inspire Such Softened Feelings In My Breast, - I Would Not Hear A Seraph Choir, Unless That Voice Could Join The Rest. 4 There Is A Face Whose Blushes Tell Affection'S Tale Upon The Cheek, But Pallid At Our Fond Farewell, Proclaims More Love Than Words Can Speak. 5 There Is A Lip, Which Mine Has Prest, But None Had Ever Prest Before; It Vowed To Make Me Sweetly Blest, That Mine Alone Should Press It More. 6 There Is A Bosom All My Own, Has Pillow'D Oft This Aching Head, A Mouth Which Smiles On Me Alone, An Eye, Whose Tears With Mine Are Shed. 7 There Are Two Hearts Whose Movements Thrill, In Unison So Closely Sweet, That Pulse To Pulse Responsive Still They Both Must Heave, Or Cease To Beat. 8 There Are Two Souls, Whose Equal Flow In Gentle Stream So Calmly Run, That When They Part - They Part? - Ah No! They Cannot Part - Those Souls Are One. [George Gordon, Lord] Byron.