THINK not, my love, when secret grief
Preys on my sadden’d heart,
Think not I wish a mean relief,
Or would from sorrow part.
Dearly I prize the sighs sincere,
That my true fondness prove,
Nor would I wish to check the tear,
That flows from hapless love!
Alas! tho’ doom’d to hope in vain
The joys that love requite,
Yet will I cherish all its pain,
With sad, but dear delight.
This treasur’d grief, this lov’d despair,
My lot for ever be;
But, dearest, may the pangs I bear
Be never known to thee!