"My own Maria! -- Ah my own -- my own!" Withheld my steps in such entreating tone, I turned -- so meek a form I could not fear, I pressed the extended hand and bathed it with a tear. -- I stood as I could never leave that place, Yet would have spoken, would have turned away: -- "My own Maria!" -- gazing on my face, As one long lost to him, did that lorn maniac say. I could not speak -- so lovely was the joy The maniac showed, 'twere cruel to destroy; And I had seen him look so lost in woe, That if I were not his -- I could not tell him so. "My own Maria!" -- with such tender grace, Repeated oft -- that now the maniac grew Dear and more dear; till urged to leave the place, I could not speak -- I could not @3look@1 adieu -- Lest I had seen him in his wild despair, And hastened to that prisoned maniac's cell, And left the world to dwell for ever there -- Few in that sordid world I loved so well: And often since that hour, thou poor unknown, In memory's tenderest thoughts, I have been all thine own! |