Constancy

Spirit! weeping, at thy feet
I would sit, and rest with thee;
Nothing else is half so sweet,
Nothing half so dear to me.

When I leave my cottage door,
From thy window glance on me;
See the gloomy tears I pour—
See me—soon thou will not see.

Call me. Were my sufferings known
Thine indifference soon would pass;
Pity break thy heart, though stone—
Melt it, tho' it were of glass.

Thine indifference? Shall I tear
Thy bright form from memory? No!
More and more I love thee, dear!
As my sufferings stronger grow.