Thy glances my woe beguile;
But despondency clouds each bright hope o’er
And thrills me with fear to see thee no more.
Oh! ne’er did I know till this fearful time
The depths of my love for thee,
Or proved the wild anguish my soul must feel
When thou art afar from me.
To my cry in the forest—Lenore! Lenore!
Echo seems but to answer—“no more, no more.”
No balm to keen sorrow, by day I find,