When I sense thee

 

O’er is my rue.

 

I cannot disbelieve

 

Nor can I indulge

 

in cravings of my soul.

 

Wherefrom comes my desire?

 

From by gone days that haunt me still.

 

Enjoying the joy of deathless raptures,

 

I’th’ future yet to come,

 

I shall weep at the mockery of it al.