 | Parliamentary Letters, and Other Poems |  |
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YES, MY LOVE, YES.
When I see the kind looks you bestow on another,
And think of the time when those looks were my own;
How can I the pangs of anxiety smother,
Or cease to remember the joys that are flown?
You love me no longer—severely I feel it,
Yet would not for worlds you should share my distress;
If my sorrow afflicts you, with care I'll conceal it,
I still wish you happy—oh! yes, my love, yes.
And think of the time when those looks were my own;
How can I the pangs of anxiety smother,
Or cease to remember the joys that are flown?
You love me no longer—severely I feel it,
Yet would not for worlds you should share my distress;
If my sorrow afflicts you, with care I'll conceal it,
I still wish you happy—oh! yes, my love, yes.
Your affections could ne'er be so fickle and veering
As to treat him with scorn you so lately approved;
Ah! when you first charm'd me with looks so endearing,
You meant to be constant, and thought that you loved:
Then may you be blest—for I never can blame you,
Though torn with an anguish I cannot express;
'Mid the friends of my bosom, believe me I'll name you
The first and the dearest,—oh! yes, my love, yes.
As to treat him with scorn you so lately approved;
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You meant to be constant, and thought that you loved:
Then may you be blest—for I never can blame you,
Though torn with an anguish I cannot express;
'Mid the friends of my bosom, believe me I'll name you
The first and the dearest,—oh! yes, my love, yes.
I still will remember, though fated to lose you,
Those dreams that deluded my fancy so long;
When a story or song from these lips could amuse you,
And you were the theme of both story and song:
But my lips have forgotten their amorous measure,
My harp is tuned only to sorrow's excess;
Your name is still dear, and I breathe it with pleasure,
Yet sigh as I breathe it—oh! yes, my love, yes.
Those dreams that deluded my fancy so long;
When a story or song from these lips could amuse you,
And you were the theme of both story and song:
But my lips have forgotten their amorous measure,
My harp is tuned only to sorrow's excess;
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Yet sigh as I breathe it—oh! yes, my love, yes.
| Parliamentary Letters, and Other Poems | |