Yes, I turned, no look betraying, And no word of passion saying,Aught of what was surging wildly, wildly in my heaving breast; And my eyes were veiled from telling Thoughts and dreams too highly swelling—They could give no joy unto her—they would break her peaceful rest.
Oh! my heart it clingeth to her, And it rich love bringeth to her,But another claims my duty,—and my love can yield no peace,— So I left the pure-eyed maiden, With a spirit heavy laden,Where the yearning shall be sated only when the life shall cease.
Were my spirit grown colder, Often might my eyes behold her,—And rejoice upon a beauty fairer than the flowers of spring;— But my pulses bound to meet her, And my eye is quick to greet herWith the tender love—rich language that the amorous poets sing.
So I turned aside, unheeding Her sad lips and eyes' mute pleading,—For her heart turned still unto me and she knew not why 'twas so. And I stifled into dying, Wishes that were loudly cryingIn my spirit, "Love her, love her, let the frowning future go."
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