Life is so desolate without thee.
I will not keep this tress of hair:
As ravens from their gloomy wings
Cast shadows, it but leaves despair
Upon the weary heart it wrings.
Where hope, and life, and faith are given,
I send it back, perchance too late;
Go cast it to the winds of heaven,
If it but rouse more bitter hate.
I will not rend a single thread