Oh thou who tell'st me that all hope is over With lazy limbs that heavily recline On the soft cushions; flushed & fair with wine Scarce seeming conscious of the scents that hover Round & above thee: can thy heart recover So soon its quiet, while mine own shall pine? Thou who canst love & not o'erstep the line Of comfort, art thou in good truth a lover O take away from me those chill calm glances As thou hast ta'en thy heart away; & give My heart again that must forget to wander Thy words were worse than silence they were lances To poison all the life I have to live Stagnate the streams of life that should meander. |