SONGS OF ISEULT DESERTED
I
I do not pray for thee, most dear of all,
That ever in soft ways thy feet may fall,
For well I know that wheresoe'er thou art
Thy feet must tread forever on my heart!
That ever in soft ways thy feet may fall,
For well I know that wheresoe'er thou art
Thy feet must tread forever on my heart!
I pray thee only to walk gently, sweet,
Nor press too sharply with too cruel feet:
Remember thou how soft the way must be,
How soft—and ah, how sad—and pity me!
Nor press too sharply with too cruel feet:
Remember thou how soft the way must be,
How soft—and ah, how sad—and pity me!
II
Should we have loved if we had known
That love would bring one day such pain?
I cannot tell—I only kiss
The pillow where your head has lain.
That love would bring one day such pain?
I cannot tell—I only kiss
The pillow where your head has lain.
Should we have loved if we had known
That love would go to come no more?
I cannot tell—I only stand
And sob before a fast-closed door.
That love would go to come no more?
I cannot tell—I only stand
And sob before a fast-closed door.
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