Anne Hathaway

To the Idol of My Eye and Delight of My Heart, Anne Hathaway 1 WOULD ye be taught, ye feathered throng, With love’s sweet notes to grace your song, To pierce the heart with thrilling lay, Listen to mine Anne Hathaway! She hath a way to sing so clear, Phœbus might wondering stop to hear. To melt the sad, make blithe the gay, And nature charm, Anne hath a way; She hath a way, Anne Hathaway; To breathe delight Anne hath a way. When Envy’s breath and rancorous tooth Do soil and bite fair worth and truth, And merit to distress betray, To soothe the heart Anne hath a way; She hath a way to chase despair, To heal all grief, to cure all care, Turn foulest night to fairest day. Thou know’st, fond heart, Anne hath a way; She hath a way, Anne Hathaway; To make grief bliss, Anne hath a way. Talk not of gems, the orient list, The diamond, topaz, amethyst, The emerald mild, the ruby gay; Talk of my gem, Anne Hathaway! She hath a way, with her bright eye, Their various lustres to defy,— The jewels she, and the foil they, So sweet to look Anne hath a way; She hath a way, Anne Hathaway; To shame bright gems, Anne hath a way. But were it to my fancy given To rate her charms, I ’d call them heaven; For, though a mortal made of clay, Angels must love Anne Hathaway; She hath a way so to control, To rapture, the imprisoned soul, And sweetest heaven on earth display, That to be heaven Anne hath a way; She hath a way, Anne Hathaway; To be heaven’s self, Anne hath a way. Note 1. This poem has sometimes, but without much reason, been attributed to Shakespeare. [back]