To Mary. Poem by William Billington

WHEN, weary with the labours of the day,
And nature needs replenishment and rest,
From Mammon's Mill I homeward bend my way
Like travelled bird returning to its nest,
Repose and richest viands are to me
But dust and ashes, save when sunned by smiles from thee.

When taste or business bids me hence depart,
By cities, hills and hamlets fair to roam,
Thine image, like an angel in my heart,
Sits smiling, as thou wilt when I come home,
While every bud and blossom that I see
Is embleming thy beauty, life, and love to me.

When on my lonely couch at dead of night,
While in the clasp of Death all nature seems,
Before my fancy flits a Form of light
Filling the land of sleep with golden dreams
And fairest forms, which, waking, still I see
With eyes so dark and beautiful-bright Eidolons of thee!

Thou art the sun that lights my path by day,
The moon whose glory gilds my darkest night,
And, whether near to thee or far away,
Thy love is like a beacon burning bright;
Yea! night or day, wherever I maybe,
Dear maiden, thou art more than all the world to me!