If you but knew the pain I feel.
Aye, even if you loved me not,
You ne’er would frown at me or mock
My love for you, or harshly speak,
Or bid me not to kiss your hand;
Instead you’d treat me as a child,
You’d treat me as a child that’s sick,
And patiently you would submit
To my caress; you would allow
My feverish hands to stroke your hair,