O give me nothing! 'Tis far too late:
Your much were little my thirst to fill,
Your little were scorn of Faith so deep—
O give me nothing!—and let me sleep.
The Captive[ToC]
I want to take my heart away,
Break it away from the branch where it clings;
I want to quit the barren spray
Where now no throstle sings.
The butterflies have long since gone,
Gone to the bough where the gay blossoms are;
The sinking sun now bears the dawn
To other lands afar.
I want to break my heart away,
Tear it away from the bough where it grows;
O for the light of a free new day,
On the hill beyond the snows!