I gazed on thee, dear one—’twas a moment that thought
Had eagerly, hopefully, doubtingly sought;
I did meet thee, I left thee, and thou didst not know,
That on thy lip quivered my joy or my woe;
When I looked but for pity, thy scorn could I bear?—
My hopes have all withered, my doubts are despair.
If sorrow—shall I wish it?—should ever reveal,
That lips can profess, what the heart does not feel;
If in a lone moment a wish should come o’er thee,
For one who can love—yes, dear one, adore thee;—