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O in my thought with names most shameful
Thy conduct I could then reprove,
I cursed thee with the wildest hatred,
I cursed thee, O it was but love!
Now even this is left no longer
And none have I to curse to-day,
And as to-day will be to-morrow,
So all my years will pass away.
An autumn which doth sadly linger
Above a dreary fountain dry,
And o’er it withered leaves are falling—
They are my dreams that now must die.
And life to me seems but a madness,
So spent before e’en it was born,
In an eternity of darkness
One moment’s bliss and thence forlorn.
O thence for ever from me flying
My luck I never, never met,
O give me back one moment’s treasure
With all its years of deep regret!
