Blame not my tears, love: to you has been given
The brightest, best gift, God to mortals allows;
The sunlight of hope on your heart shines from Heaven,
And shines from your heart, on this life and its woes.

Blame not my tears, love: on you her best treasure
Kind nature has lavish’d, oh, long be it yours!
For how barren soe’er be the path you now measure,
The future still woos you with hands full of flowers.

Oh, ne’er be that gift, love, withdrawn from thy keeping!
The jewel of life, its strong spirit, its wings;
If thou ever must weep, may it shine through thy weeping,
As the sun his warm rays through a spring shower flings.

But blame not my tears, love: to me ’twas denied;
And when fate to my lips gave this life’s mingled cup,
She had filled to the brim, from the dark bitter tide,
And forgotten to pour in the only sweet drop.