Oh how hard it is to find The one just suited to our mind; And if that one should be False, unkind, or found too late, What can we do but sigh at fate, And sing Wo's1 me — Wo's me! Love's a boundless burning waste, Where Bliss's stream we seldom taste, And still more seldom flee Suspense's thorns, Suspicion's stings; Yet somehow Love a something brings That's sweet — ev'n when we sigh Wo's me!
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Confirmed with The Poetical Works of Thomas Campbell: Consisting of The Pleasures of Hope, Gertrude of Wyoming, Theodric, and Other Poems, Written at Different Periods from 1799 to 1827, Boston, Munroe and Francis, 1827, page 207.1 Modern spelling would be "Woe's".
- by Thomas Campbell (1777 - 1844), "Song" [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by Charles Gounod (1818 - 1893), "Woe's me ! Woe's me !", published  [voice and piano], London, Chappell [text not verified]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2016-01-08
Line count: 12
Word count: 76