Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/398



have I sighed for pleasure past, Oft wept for secret smarting— But far the heaviest drop of all That ever on my cheek did fall The tear was at our parting.

Why did our bosoms ever beat Harmonious with each other, If truest sympathies of soul Might broken be, perhaps the w'hole Concentred in another?

My fear it was w hen other scenes, With other tongues, and faces, Should greet thee, thou w'ould'st haply be Forgetful of our amity In old frequented places.

'Tis even so—the thrall of love, Past ties to thee seem common—