I sleep with thee and wake with thee, And yet thou art not there; I fill my arms with thoughts of thee -- And press the common air. Thy eyes are gazing upon mine When thou art out of sight, My lips are always touching thine At morning, noon, and night. I think and speak of other things To keep my mind at rest, But still to thee my memory clings Like love in woman's breast. I hide it from the world's wide eye And think and speak contrary; But soft the wind comes from the sky And whispers tales of Mary. |