Page:Heath's Book of Beauty 1833.pdf/32

Rh

And yet I am mournful—I think of our morrow, And my heart fills with nameless and shadowy fears: The heart has its omens, and mine are of sorrow— I know that our future has anguish and tears.

I see the clouds pass o'er the stars, and my spirit Grows dark as the terrors which round it are thrown: Ah, Surrey! whatever my lot may inherit, I care not, so suffering but reach me alone.