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WITH how distressed a sentiment my heart Doth think of thee, my heart alone can tell, Nor easily interpret thoughts that dwell Within this sorrowing spirit, lest we part, To meet not as we have, with love’s sweet art Designing pictures in some flowery dell That held those garlands which from lovers fell; For every time I think of thee I start. ’Tis long since thou didst come, to make my life A heaven of fleeting rapture in my breast, Bright as the silvery star, that shines above The firmament of man’s uncertain strife. Thou tookest from me all that I possest; Then give me, give me in return thy love!