Chapter V

Upon that brow, so soft, so fair,
Why sit those frowns?-- O why should I
Plant bitter flowers of anger there?
O tell me, more than angel, why?

I have been wretched--did I e’er
Trouble thy peace with my distress?
Did I invite thee, say, to hear
The story of my wretchedness?

O no! I sigh’d midst rocks and groves,
That thou might’st never know I sigh’d:
I wept where stillest water roves:--
The tear but swell’d the silent tide.

Forget me--for my love shall be
Enough for both:--undying, bright--
Winged for an immortality,
And filling all the tomb with light.