Love, thou art best of human joys,
Our chiefest happiness below;
All other pleasure are but toys,
Music without Thee is but noise,
And beauty but an empty show.
Heaven, who knew best what man would move,
And raise his thoughts above the brute;
Said, Let him be and let him love;
That must alone his soul improve,
Howe’er philosophers dispute.
Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea