Literary Gazette, 8th May, 1824, Page 299
ORIGINAL POETRY.
LOVE’S LAMENT.[1]
Nay, pray thee, let me weep, for tears
Are all thy love has left to me;
I love thee still! but dream no more
Of happiness in loving thee.
My heart has been too rudely crushed,
For its deep wounds to ever heal;
My hopes have been too coldly checked,
For me again such hopes to feel.
My very soul is wrung! it has
Borne for thee all that it could bear,—
Two silent pulses vibrate yet
In pain—its love and its despair!
Love! for, to love so fond as mine
Only the grave an end can be:
Despair! what is there that my heart
Can hope from love, or life, or thee?
Upon my lute there is one string
Broken, the chords were drawn too fast,—
My heart is like that string—it tried
Too much, and snapt in twain at last!
Then, pray thee, let me weep, for tears
Are all thy love has left to me;
And they will fall less bitterly,
If that I think they fall for Thee.
- ↑ Signature after next poem
