Now I have seen your face,
My tears are all for you.
Where are the lonely grace,
The pride, the lovely ways I knew?
The flower that blossomed fair
When winds and clouds arrayed
The shadows of the air,
Plucked, though with jealous care, must fade.
And in your wintry eyes.
With re-awakenings moved
A moment, I surprise
Nostalgia of the skies they loved.
Old sorrows I have borne
In patience for your sake,
Not without help of scorn:
From dreams, now twice forlorn, I wake.
I hear the old sorrows call,
Now, from your heart alone";
And scorn's relief recall
With pity which is all your own.
