Had I not lived and loved? My lot was cast.
Wouldst thou ask where the nightingale is gone,
That, melting into song her soul away,
Gave the spring-breeze what witch’d thee in its tone?
But while she loved, she lived, in that deep lay!
Think’st thou my heart its lost one hath not found?
Yes! we are one: oh! trust me, we have met,
Where naught again may part what love hath bound,
Where falls no tear, and whispers no regret.
There shalt thou find us, there with us be blest,