Classic Poem

If she but knew that I am weeping
— — Still for her sake,
That love and sorrow grow with keeping
— — Till they must break,
My heart that breaking will adore her,
— — Be hers and die;
If she might hear me once implore her,
— — Would she not sigh?

If she but knew that it would save me
— — Her voice to hear,
Saying she pitied me, forgave me,
— — Must she forbear?
If she were told that I was dying,
— — Would she be dumb?
Could she content herself with sighing?
— — Would she not come?