Oh, lonely and lorn as the bittern’s boom,
I haunt every solitude known,
Only to find from the wide world’s room
A nameless something has flown.
I know not the reason, and fear nor I care;
I only know I am lonelier, Dear,
As over the well-wonted moorland I fare,
Than ever the death-wept tear.
How lonely, Dear! how long the time!—
But I’ll bear it, I’ll bear it for thee,