by Thomas Campbell (1777 - 1844)

Oh how hard it is to find
Language: English 
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".


Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2016-01-08
Line count: 12
Word count: 76