You say you once lov'd me, and lov'd me to madness,
But ah! are you sure that you felt as you said?
Or could you, unmov'd, see me thus plung'd in sadness;
Unmov'd, could you see all my feelings betray'd?

To punish me thus for a moment of folly,
Is far from a gentle, a sensitive mind;
And surely such ages of deep melancholy
May blot out a moment when reason was blind.

Think, think of my sorrow, my unfeign'd emotion,
When coldly you said that you lov'd me no longer;
Discard then, I pray you, discard the false notion,
Which tells you that weak is the love which is stronger .

If e'er you believ'd I was blest with perception,
To distinguish a spark from the light of the sun,
O! how could you ever admit the conception,
Another could charm me where you had made one.

Then doom me no longer to deep preying anguish,
And doom me no longer your loss to bewail;
For your talents , your genius , your converse I languish,
Ah! let o'er your coldness my wishes prevail.

Those eyes which so lately you gaz'd on with pleasure,
Ah! how can you see them o'erflowing with tears?
I feel that a sensitive being's a treasure,
Who pays in possession the wishes of years.

Then oh! well consider, before your rejection,
Philosophy ne'er can diminish a loss,
The value of which is discern'd on reflection,
Unalloy'd, except by an atom of dross.

Yet if with cold caution, my softness despising,
You turn from me still with fastidious reserve,
Believe tho' now slumb'ring, my pride swift arising,
Its dignity then shall know how to preserve.

I well know that pride would disdain my confession,
But I love not the pride which forbids me to feel;
More noble the glory to lighten oppression,
And wound one's own bosom, another's to heal.