Despondency

Like a turtle-dove complaining
That no joy is now remaining;
What shall hope's sweet dreams renew me,
All life's desert, bare and gloomy?

One sad thought pursues me ever—
Love is fled, returning never;
She who was my love's first blossom,
Sleeps upon another's bosom.

What is left for love and gladness?
Sorrow, solitude, and sadness:
For the dreams of peace departed,
Sighs have burst and tears have started.

But the trees and flowers I summon,
"Bring me back that lovely woman!"
Then I think that she is sitting
In her castle, me forgetting.

So doth every matin, dawning,
Shade my thought with gloomiest awning;
Hope deferred, and bliss retreating,
Shall I ever hear thy greeting?