Till our complaining lips in anguish close.
My eyes shall still behold the stars above,
And you, how oft will count the hosts of night,
But never, never can we feel delight
In them together, swearing that our love
Is more enduring than eternal things!
Oh! blessed madness that possessed the heart,
Oh! sweet unreason that could cloud the mind,
Alas! that we have left you far behind,
And growing wise must lose the dearer part,