VIII
O might my footsteps find a rest!
O might my eyes with tears run o'er!
O could the wound but leave my breast
To lapse in days that are no more!
And if I could in silence mourn
Apart from lying sympathy,
And man's remarks or sighs or scorn,
I should be where I wish to be.
For nothing nearer paradise
Ought for a moment to be mine:
I've far outlived such real joys—
I could not bear so bright a shine;
For I've been consecrate to grief—
I should not be if that were gone—
And all my prospect of relief
On earth would be to grieve alone!
To live in sunshine now would be
To live in every sweetest thought;
What I have been and seen below
Must first be utterly forgot.
And I can not forget the years
Gone by as if they'd never been;
Yet if I will remember—tears
Must always dim the dreary scene.
So there's no choice. However bright
May beam the blaze of July's sun,
'Twill only yield another sight
