Could'st thou but know how dark and drear my days, though few, have past
Since o'er my once light heart Despair his gloomy shadow cast;
Without one joy to cheer me here, and not a hope on high,
The only prayer I offer there, to be allowed to die;
Could'st thou but know the anguish which my tortured heart must hide,
While gazing on thee smiling still, in youth and beauty's pride,
While listening to thy thrilling voice until my burning brain
Is maddened with the withering thought that I must love in vain!
Thou would'st forgive me that I dare in hopelessness reveal
The fierce and frenzied agony of soul thou wilt not heal;
Thy gentle breast would pity one whose brimming cup of woe
Has gathered deeper bitterness from passion's scorching glow.
I thought that even charms like thine my sered heart could not move,
That sorrow's strength had steeled it long against the might of love;
That that last pang, of all the worst, could never more be mine,
And beauty's power so long defied, I should not bow to thine.
But oh! that cold sad freedom lost, I would not now regain!
Far dearer to my soul I hold the love thou wilt disdain;
Still on mine ear thy gentle voice in silent music falls,
Bathing my heart as moonlight bathes some donjon's craggy walls;
Still can I gaze in thought into those bright bewildering eyes,
Within whose heavenly depth enshrined Love's mighty shadow lies;
Still hang upon those lips which poured their melody of tone,
And breathed a softness on my heart, until that hour unknown.
W. C. S. B.