Once we had joys in common: common woes
Have lately been our portion, friend, once loved!
And still as much loved as mid sorrow's throes
It is possible to move, or to be moved.
Faithless I'm not because no word that glows,
No look that cheers accost a friend approved;
Love's language lies in more profound repose
Than that of d**h, since hope has been removed
From my soul's dreams.
But couldst thou pierce my heart
And see the tenderest thought it doth enshrine,
It is, should myself and sorrow ever part,
Mine eyes shall then tell thee when sought by thine,
While blessed tears gush, like children's, without art,
"These had not flowed, wert thou again not mine."