Thou Lovest Me No More.
THOU lovest me no more. It needs not words
To tell me thou art altered now. Alas!
I mark it well in thy cold, studied tone.
Oh would affection seek its warmth to hide
In tones whose chilling, freezing cadences
Fall on the soul like Alpine drops? 'Tis true
Thou still dost say that I am dear; thy lip
Still murmurs all love's practised flatteries,
But thy stern glance of cold and withering pride
Turns all the hollow mockeries of thy words
To bitter, bitter ashes on my heart.
I utter no reproaches. Slowly now
And silently and mournfully ope
My spirit's rosy-gate, and drive from thence
To tell me thou art altered now. Alas!
I mark it well in thy cold, studied tone.
Oh would affection seek its warmth to hide
In tones whose chilling, freezing cadences
Fall on the soul like Alpine drops? 'Tis true
Thou still dost say that I am dear; thy lip
Still murmurs all love's practised flatteries,
But thy stern glance of cold and withering pride
Turns all the hollow mockeries of thy words
To bitter, bitter ashes on my heart.
I utter no reproaches. Slowly now
And silently and mournfully ope
My spirit's rosy-gate, and drive from thence
