“CARMEN TRISTIS.”
How can I sing a song, love, when my heart is full of woe?
Grief that is hard to bear, love; grief that is gnawing and slow
Crimson rimmed are my eyes, love; bitter my soul within;
Bid me to mope and mourn, love, for I haven’t the mind to sing.
Though the Sun may shine in the skies, dear,
Though the day be blithesome and gay;
When the Mirth of my heart quietly dies, dear,
Poor homage to joy can I pay.
For I am far from thy love, dear,
From thee who my heart feeds with smiles;
More fair than the blossoms above, dear,
Or the Pearls of the fairy isles.
How then can I sing a song, love?
How then may I carol a lay?
When thee, for whom my eyes long, love,
Art far from my sight away.
Bournemouth,
April 10th, 1915.