Our hearts, my love, were formed to be
The genuine twins of Sympathy,
They live with one sensation;
In joy or grief, but most in love,
Like chords in unison they move,
And thrill with like vibration.
How oft I've beard thee fondly say,
Thy vital pulse shall cease to play
When mine no more is moving;
Since, now, to feel a joy alone
Were worse to thee than feeling none,
So twined are we in loving!