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And fix my sad gaze on some still bright star,
And muse on thee through long uncounted hours!
And muse on thee through long uncounted hours!
I know thou dost not—canst not think of me!
Alas! my heart would leap with joy elate
Could I but hope that I might sometimes be
A thought within thy soul—its spirit-mate!
Alas! my heart would leap with joy elate
Could I but hope that I might sometimes be
A thought within thy soul—its spirit-mate!
I know not why my heart should thus be stirred
By these wild thoughts—thou dost not pine for me!
And yet, how oft I pine to be a bird—
A star—or any thing that 's loved by thee!
By these wild thoughts—thou dost not pine for me!
And yet, how oft I pine to be a bird—
A star—or any thing that 's loved by thee!
I know not if I e'er shall list thy tone,
Or blushing, thrill beneath thy thrilling touch;
Thy songs, thy fame, are all my heart hath known,
And knowing this alone—it knows too much!
Or blushing, thrill beneath thy thrilling touch;
Thy songs, thy fame, are all my heart hath known,
And knowing this alone—it knows too much!
