I heed not that my earthly lot
Hath—little of Earth in it—
That years of love have been forgot
In the hatred of a minute:—I
mourn not that the desolate
Are happier, sweet, than I,
But that you sorrow for my fate
Who am a passer by.
(1829)
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I heed not that my earthly lot
Hath—little of Earth in it—
That years of love have been forgot
In the hatred of a minute:—I
mourn not that the desolate
Are happier, sweet, than I,
But that you sorrow for my fate
Who am a passer by.
(1829)