But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
Were those hours—can their joy or their bitterness cease?
We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain,—
We will part, we will fly to—unite it again!
Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!
Forgive me, adored one!—forsake, if thou wilt;—
But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased
And man shall not break it—whatever thou mayst.
And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
This soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be:
And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,
With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet.
- We have loved—and oh, still, my adored one we love!
Oh the moment is past, when that Passion might cease.—[MS. erased.]
- The thought may be madness—the wish may be guilt.—[MS. erased.]
But I cannot repent what we ne'er can recall. But the heart which is thine would disdain to recall.—[MS. erased.]
- —— though I feel that thou mayst.—[MS. L. erased.]
- This soul in its bitterest moments shall be,
And our days run as swift—and our moments more sweet,
With thee at my side, than the world at my feet.—[MS.]