I WILL not look for him, I will not hear
My heart's loud beating, as I strain to see
Across the rain forlorn and hopelessly,
Nor, starting, think 't is he that draws so near.
I will forget how tenderly and dear
He might in coming hold his arms to me,
For I will prove what woman's pride can be
When faint love lingers in the darkness drear.
I will not—ah, but should he come to-night
I think my life might break through very bliss,
This little will should so be torn apart
That all my soul might fail in golden light
And let me die; so do I long for this.
Ah, love, thine eyes!—Nay, love—Thy heart, thy heart!