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Poem	Drink to her who long Hath waked the poet's sigh, The girl who gave to song What gold could never buy. Oh! woman's heart was made For minstrel hands alone; By other fingers play'd, It yields not half the tone. Then here's to her who long Hath waked the poet's sigh, The girl who gave to song What gold could never buy. At Beauty's door of glass, When Wealth and Wit once stood, They ask'd her, "which might pass?" She answer'd, "he who could." With golden key Wealth thought To pass -- but 'twould not do: While Wit a diamond brought, Which cut his bright way through. So here's to her who long Hath waked the poet's sigh, The girl who gave to song What gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home Where wealth or grandeur shines, Is like the gloomy gnome, That dwells in dark mines. But oh! the poet's love Can boast a brighter sphere; Its native home's above, Though woman keeps it here. Then drink to her who long Hath waked the poet's sigh, The girl who gave to song What gold could never buy.
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