Weep not too much, my darling;
Sigh not too oft for me;
Say not the face of
Has lost its charm for thee.
I have enough of
In my own breast alone;
Thou canst not ease the burden,
Love,
By adding still thine own.
I know the faith and
Of that true heart of thine;
But I would have it
As thou wouldst render mine.
At night, when I lie waking,
More soothing it will
To say 'She slumbers calmly now,'Than say 'She weeps for me.'When through the prison
The holy moonbeams shine,
And I am wildly
To see the orb
Not crossed, deformed, and
By those relentless
That will not show the crescent moon,
And scarce the twinkling stars,
It is my only
To think, that unto
The sight is not forbidden —The face of heaven is free.
If I could think
Is gazing upward now —Is gazing with a tearless eyeA calm unruffled brow;
That moon upon her
Sheds sweet, celestial balm, —The thought, like Angel's whisper,
My misery would calm.
And when, at early morning,
A faint flush comes to me,
Reflected from those glowing skiesI almost weep to see;
Or when I catch the
Of gently swaying trees,
Or hear the louder
Of the soul-inspiring breeze,
And pant to feel its
Upon my burning brow,
Or sigh to see the twinkling leaf,
And watch the waving bough;
If, from these fruitless
Thou wouldst deliver me,
Say that the charms of
Are lovely still to thee;
While I am thus repining,
O! let me but believe,'These pleasures are not lost to her,'And I will cease to grieve.
O, scorn not Nature's bounties!
My soul partakes with thee.
Drink bliss from all her fountains,
Drink for thyself and me!
Say not, 'My soul is
In dungeon gloom with thine;'But say, 'His heart is here with me;
His spirit drinks with mine.'
