THE IMPROVISATRICE.
69
I must my beating heart restrain—
Must veil my burning brow!
Oh, I must coldly learn to hide
One thought, all else above—
Must call upon my woman's pride
To hide my woman's love!
Check dreams I never may avow;
Be free, be careless, cold as thou!
Oh! those are tears of bitterness,
Wrung from the breaking heart,
When two, blest in their tenderness,
Must learn to live—apart!
But what are they to that lone sigh,
That cold and fixed despair,
That weight of wasting agony
It must be mine to bear?
