195
The time is past and over—and though madness it may be—
There are moments still, lost beauty! when I pause to think of thee!
When I seem to feel thy glances—as they thrilled my heart of yore—
But the memory hath unmann'd me—I must think of thee no more!
There are moments still, lost beauty! when I pause to think of thee!
When I seem to feel thy glances—as they thrilled my heart of yore—
But the memory hath unmann'd me—I must think of thee no more!
