How should I think of thee but with delight? How should I greet thy face but with a smile? And yet dark tears within my heart defile The dreams of thee that I would have so bright. If thou shouldst come and end this lonely while, These leaden hours of the sleepless night, Still should I fear to show thee what I write,
Lest I repent in vain, and thou revile. Yet couldst thou read these scriptures of my heart, Graven in pa**ion with no base control, For one brief moment, then, they might impart Some almost worthy offering from my soul. I write for thee, and cannot let thee read, Thus love denies itself its utmost need.