67
I love thee,—but it matters not.
Though deep despair alone is mine:
Though hope ne'er cheers my weary lot,
My every thought and wish is thine.
Though deep despair alone is mine:
Though hope ne'er cheers my weary lot,
My every thought and wish is thine.
I wander o'er the flowery fields,
And listen to the wild bird's lay,
When spring her opening beauty yields,
And sportive lambkins skip and play.
And listen to the wild bird's lay,
When spring her opening beauty yields,
And sportive lambkins skip and play.
But heedless pass each floret by,
Nor hear sweet sounds, nor beauty see,
And gaze unheedful on the sky:
My wayward spirit dwells with thee.
Nor hear sweet sounds, nor beauty see,
And gaze unheedful on the sky:
My wayward spirit dwells with thee.
Thou can'st not feel as I am prone,
Thy soul is cast in other mould,
Seared is thine heart,—it beats alone,
Disdainful, raptureless and cold.
Thy soul is cast in other mould,
Seared is thine heart,—it beats alone,
Disdainful, raptureless and cold.
I know not why, but unto me,
Like being of other world art thou,—
All gentle, passionless, and free
From anguish that o'erwhelms me now.
Like being of other world art thou,—
All gentle, passionless, and free
From anguish that o'erwhelms me now.
But pure the love which fills my heart,
And when from bonds of earth I'm free,
Oh! may I then be where thou art,
And dwell—for ever dwell—with thee!
And when from bonds of earth I'm free,
Oh! may I then be where thou art,
And dwell—for ever dwell—with thee!
