I miss thee from my side, beloved, I miss thee from my side; And wearily and drearily Flows Time's resistless tide.
The world, and all its fleeting joys, To me are worse than vain, Until I clasp thee to my heart, Beloved one, again.
The wildwood and the forest-path, We used to thread of yore, With bird and bee have flown with thee, And gone for ever more!
There is no music in the grove, No echo on the hill; But melancholy boughs are there — And hushed the whip-poor-will.
I miss thee in the town, beloved, I miss thee in the town; From morn I grieve till dewy eve Spreads wide its mantle brown.
My spirit's wings, that once could soar In Fancy's world of air, Are crushed and beaten to the ground By life-corroding care.
No more I hear thy thrilling voice, Nor see thy winning face; That once would gleam like morning's beam, In mental pride and grace:
Thy form of matchless symmetry, In sweet perfection cast — Is now the star of memory That fades not with the past.
I miss thee everywhere, beloved, I miss thee everywhere; Both night and day wear dull away, And leave me in despair.
The banquet-hall, the play, the ball, And childhood's sportive glee, Have lost their spell for me, beloved, My souls is full of thee!
Has Rosabel forgotten me, And love I now in vain? If that be so, my heart can know No rest on earth again.
A sad and weary lot is mine, To love and be forgot; A sad and weary lot beloved — A sad and weary lot!
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