  MY life its secret and its mystery has, A love eternal in a moment born; There is no hope to help my evil case, And she knows naught who makes me thus forlorn. And I unmark’d shall ever by her pass Aye at her side, and yet for aye alone; And I shall waste my bitter days, alas! And never dare to claim my love my own! And she whom God has made so sweet and dear, Will go her way, distraught, and never hear This murmur round her of my love and pain; To austere duty true, will go her way, And read these verses full of her, and say, “Who is this woman that he sings of then? Thomas Ashe. |
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