If But My Friends Would Not

If but my friends would not increase my grief,
Try with condolences to bring relief.

My only treasure now, — they ought to know, —
Bequeathed by my love, — is this my woe.

By. my poor heart this heirloom 's treasured high
(The heart which is all void is doomed to die.

Be it sweet joy, be it heartrending woe,
; With one the heart must ever overflow.)

This treasure I shall not spend nor exchange
For all the bliss within the world's range.
Within the secret workshop of my mind:
Each part is for a beauteous song designed.

Each song shall be a stone to build a home,
High, into clouds to reach its mighty dome.
This proud and beauteous structure be fore'er
The pantheon of my dead sweetheart fair.