Still thine own its life retaineth—
Still must mine, though bleeding, beat;[1]
And the undying thought which paineth[2]
Is—that we no more may meet.
These are words of deeper sorrow[3]
Than the wail above the dead;30
Both shall live—but every morrow[4]
Wake us from a widowed bed.
And when thou would'st solace gather—
When our child's first accents flow—
Wilt thou teach her to say "Father!"
Though his care she must forego?
When her little hands shall press thee—
When her lip to thine is pressed—
Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee—
Think of him thy love had blessed!40
Should her lineaments resemble
Those thou never more may'st see,
Then thy heart will softly tremble[5]
With a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchance thou knowest—
All my madness—none can know;[6]
All my hopes—where'er thou goest—
Wither—yet with thee they go.
Every feeling hath been shaken;
Pride—which not a world could bow—[7]50
Bows to thee—by thee forsaken,[8]
Even my soul forsakes me now.
- ↑ Net result of many alterations.
- ↑ And the lasting thought ——.—[MS. erased.]
- ↑ —— of deadlier sorrow.—[MS. erased.]
- ↑ Every future night and morrow.—[MS. erased.]
- ↑ Still thy heart ——.—[MS. erased.]
- ↑ All my follies ——.—[MS. erased.]
- ↑ —— which not the world could bow.—[MS.]
- ↑ Falls at once ——.—[MS. erased.]
