WHY do I o'er my paper once more bend?
Ask not too closely, dearest one, I prayFor, to speak truth, I've nothing now to say;Yet to thy hands at length 'twill come, dear friend.
Since I can come not with it, what I sendMy undivided heart shall now convey,With all its joys, hopes, pleasures, pains, to-day:
All this hath no beginning, hath no end.
Henceforward I may ne'er to thee confideHow, far as thought, wish, fancy, will, can reach,My faithful heart with thine is surely blended.
Thus stood I once enraptured by thy side,Gazed on thee, and said nought. What need of speech?
My very being in itself was ended.
1807?.
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