THAT thou mightst happy be, I once did pray; But now thou'rt joy possessing, Meseems, amid the pangs which my heart slay, A thousand times from it the wish must stray, That grief again was thee oppressing. 'T is only when thou 'rt wretched that thou 'rt mine, Once more then I am praying. Now, when Love's golden sun doth on thee shine, And solitude on earth's no longer thine, My steps near thee can ne'er be straying. |