A Lover's Envy by Henry van Dyke

I envy every flower that blows / Along the meadow where she goes, / And every bird that sings to her, / And every breeze that brings to her / The fragrance of the rose.

I envy every poet's rhyme / That moves her heart at eventime, / And every tree that wears for her / Its brightest bloom, and bears for her / The fruitage of its prime.

I envy every Southern night / That paves her path with moonbeams white, / And silvers all the leaves for her, / And in their shadow weaves for her / A dream of dear delight.

I envy none whose love requires / Of her a gift, a task that tires: / I only long to live to her, / I only ask to give to her, / All that her heart desires.