Dwelling for ever on a frown;
On sighs I’ve fed, your scorn my bread;
I perish now you kind are grown.
Can I, who loved my beloved,
But for the scorn “was in her eye,”
Can I be moved for my beloved
When she “returns me sigh for sigh?”
In stately pride, by my bedside,
High-born Helen’s portrait’s hung;
Deaf to my praise, my mournful lays