TO AN UNKNOWN PORTRAIT.
117
I weep and I smile, e'en now as I plead,
With a sense of exquisite pain;
Forgive me; I'm wayward, aye, wayward indeed;
Say not I am pleading in vain.
With a sense of exquisite pain;
Forgive me; I'm wayward, aye, wayward indeed;
Say not I am pleading in vain.
One hour I would ask sweet converse to hold,
The purest of thoughts to express;
And when the closed leaves of my heart I unfold,
I am sure with thy prayers thou wilt bless;
Thou wouldst come to me then, in sadness, in pain,
Thy spirit's own bride I would be;
To wander, thou ne'er wouldst leave me again—
Sad stranger, then hasten to me.
The purest of thoughts to express;
And when the closed leaves of my heart I unfold,
I am sure with thy prayers thou wilt bless;
Thou wouldst come to me then, in sadness, in pain,
Thy spirit's own bride I would be;
To wander, thou ne'er wouldst leave me again—
Sad stranger, then hasten to me.
