She I love (alas in vain!) Floats before my slumbering eyes: When she comes she lulls my pain, When she goes what pangs arise! Thou whom love, whom memory flies, Gentle Sleep! prolong thy reign!...
The fault is not mine if I love you too much, I loved you too little too long, Such ever your graces, your tenderness such, And the music the heart gave the tongue. ...
Well I remember how you smiled To see me write your name upon The soft sea-sand--'_O! what a child!_ _You think you're writing upon stone!_' I have since written what no tide...
You smiled, you spoke, and I believed, By every word and smile deceived. Another man would hope no more; Nor hope I what I hoped before: But let not this last wish be vain; Deceive, deceive me once again!