Verity
I'd ask no woman's heart unfreely given,
I'd sooner from her part with bosom riven!
Life could not long endure,
And then my spirit pure
Would rise to heaven!
I'd ask no friendly tear to sooth my sorrow—
No hope that might endear a mild to-morrow!
But 'mong the silent dead,—
There for my weary head,
A place I'd borrow!
I'd sooner from her part with bosom riven!
Life could not long endure,
And then my spirit pure
Would rise to heaven!
I'd ask no friendly tear to sooth my sorrow—
No hope that might endear a mild to-morrow!
But 'mong the silent dead,—
There for my weary head,
A place I'd borrow!
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