Classic Poem

Heart , my heart, why throbb'st thou so?
Is it rapture—is it woe?—
'Tis, at once, both woe and bliss;
Ah! so sad a joy is this,—
Ah! so exquisite a woe,
Not for worlds would I forego!
Beat, oh beat, my throbbing breast!
Sweet, oh sweet, is love's unrest!

Heart, my heart, why throbb'st thou so?
Is it rapture—is it woe?—
Every pleasure earth contains
Is conjoined to bitter pains.
Lover's bliss is bitterness—
Lover's woe is blessedness.
Beat, oh beat, my throbbing breast!
Sweet, oh sweet, is love's unrest!

Heart, my heart, why throbb'st thou so?
Is it rapture—is it woe?—
Bliss of love hath me bereft;
Pang of love alone is left;
Yet, in woe, the heart loves on;
Sweet the joy of pleasure gone
Beat, oh beat, my throbbing breast!
Sweet, oh sweet, is love's unrest!