NAY, darling, darling, do not frown, Nor call my words unkind; For my speech was but an idle jest, As idle as the wind. And now that I see your tender heart, By my thoughtlessness is grieved, I suffer both for the pain I gave, And the pain that you received. For if ever I have a thought of you, That cold or cruel seems, I have murdered my peace, and robbed my sleep Of the joy of its happy dreams. And when I have brought a cloud of grief To your sweet face unaware, Its shadow covers all my sky With the blackness of despair. And if in your pillow I have set But one sharp thorn, alone, That cruel, careless deed, transplants A thousand to my own. I grieve with your grief, I die in your frown, In your joy alone I live; And the blow that it pained your heart to feel, I would break my own to give! |