Cry not, dear friend, those bitter tears, Thy heart should not such pain endure, For loved you are, these many years, For all your qualities, so pure… You are the muse that soothes the soul, Of this poor poet, should that ease, The anguish; may it cease the toll, Of heartache, and your heart thus please… But should it not, and empty seem, Pray know that thou whilst e’er remain, The Lady of my heart, my dream, The salve that heals this lover’s pain… Would that I could but caress, The softest tear from off thy cheek, Or on your spirit, then, impress, The love I’d give, the love you seek… Oh, cruelest fate, that distance keeps, Thy form away from my embrace, And when you sorrow, my heart weeps, To match the tears upon my face… In closing, then, I can but say, Have strength, dear lady, and know this, My heart, my soul, my mortal clay, Are yours, within this wordy kiss.
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Thy heart should not such pain endure,
For loved you are, these many years,
For all your qualities, so pure…
You are the muse that soothes the soul,
Of this poor poet, should that ease,
The anguish; may it cease the toll,
Of heartache, and your heart thus please…
But should it not, and empty seem,
Pray know that thou whilst e’er remain,
The Lady of my heart, my dream,
The salve that heals this lover’s pain…
Would that I could but caress,
The softest tear from off thy cheek,
Or on your spirit, then, impress,
The love I’d give, the love you seek…
Oh, cruelest fate, that distance keeps,
Thy form away from my embrace,
And when you sorrow, my heart weeps,
To match the tears upon my face…
In closing, then, I can but say,
Have strength, dear lady, and know this,
My heart, my soul, my mortal clay,
Are yours, within this wordy kiss.
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