With that long pain that turns us bitter cold,
Far worse than these hot tears
Of thine, that fall so fast upon my breast.
I know they ease thy grief:
I know they comfort, and will bring thee rest,
Thou poor wind-shaken leaf!
Ah yes, thy storm will pass, thy skies will clear.
Thou smilest beneath my kiss:
Lift up the blue eyes cleansed by weeping, dear,
Of every thought amiss.