i sat with love upon a woodside well,
leaning across the water, i and he;
nor ever did he speak nor look’d at me,
but touch’d his lute where in was audible
the certain secret thing he had to tell：
only our mirror’d eyes met silently
in the low wave;and that sound came to be
the passionate voice i knew; and my tears fell.
and at their fall, his eyes beneath grew hers;
and with his foot and with his wing-feathers
he swept the spring that water’d my heart’s drouth.
then the dark ripples spread to waving hair,
and as i stoop’d, her own lips rising there
bubbled with brimming kisses at my mouth.
i meet thy pensive, moonlight face;
thy thrilling voice i hear;
and former hours and scenes retrace
too fleeting, and too dear!
then sighs and tears flow fast and free,
though none is nigh to share;
and life has nought beside for me
so sweet as this despair.
there are crush’d hearts that will not break;
and mine, me thinks, is one;
or thus i should not weep and wake,
and thou to slumber gone.
i little thought it thus could be
in days more sad and fair---
that earth could have a place for me,
and thou no longer there.
yet death cannot our hearts divide,
or make thee less my own;
’t were sweeter sleeping at thy side
than watching here alone.
yet never, never can we part,
while memory holds her reign;
thine, thine is still this wither’d heart,
till we shall meet again.