Worn Out

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Thy strong arms are around me, love
  My head is on thy breast;
  Low words of comfort come from thee
  Yet my soul has no rest.

  For I am but a startled thing
  Nor can I ever be
  Aught save a bird whose broken wing
  Must fly away from thee.

  I cannot give to thee the love
  I gave so long ago,
  The love that turned and struck me down
  Amid the blinding snow.

  I can but give a failing heart
  And weary eyes of pain,
  A faded mouth that cannot smile
  And may not laugh again.

  Yet keep thine arms around me, love,
  Until I fall to sleep;
  Then leave me, saying no goodbye
  Lest I might wake, and weep.

© Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal