The sun is dim; the stars deceive; Naught can my malady relieve: The buoyant throng I now eschew; Ah, life is marred for want of @3you@1. How could I dream your absence, dear, Nature herself would so impair! What pleasure gave elicits pain: Beauty and color lure in vain. Your presence in itself was heaven; Your influence was rapture's leaven; Our parting was some imp's device To shut me out of paradise. |