there is not a fibre in my trembling frame
that does not vibrate when thy step draws near
there is not a pulse that throbs not when i hear
thy voice, thy breath, nay, thy very name.
when thou art with me, every sense seems dim,
and all that i am, or know, or feel - is thee;
my soul grows faint, my veins run liquid flame
amd my poor bewildered spirit seems to swim
in eddying whirls of passion, dizzily.
when thou art gone, there creeps into my heart
the cold and bitter consciousness of pain
the light, the warmth of life, with thee depart,
and i sit dreaming, over and over again
thy greeting clasp, thy parting look, and tone;
and suddenly
i awake
and i am
alone.
