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thee leave me not; my heart So passionately clings to thee; Oh, give me time, I'll try to part With life—for love is life to me. A little while—I cannot bear The presence of my great despair; Though changed your voice, and cold your eye, You would not wish to see me die.

The wretch who on the scaffold stands Has some brief time allow'd For parting grasp of kindly hands, For farewell to the crowd: And even as gradual let me learn My thoughts and hopes from thee to turn; To grow accustom'd to thy brow, Strange, chilling as it meets me now!

But, no; I dare not, cannot look Upon thy alter'd face: