Years were to pass ere we should meet;
A wide and yawning gulf
Divides me from my love so sweet,
While (ulf—sulf—dulf—mulf—stuck again; I can’t get any rhyme to gulf. I’m in a gulf myself).
Oh, how I dreaded in my soul
To part from my sweet nymph,
While years should their long seasons roll
Before (nymph—dymph—ymph—I guess I’ll have to let it go at that).
Beneath my fortune’s stern decree
My lonely spirit sunk,