Zephyr, while my lute is sighing
Tuneful murmurs with my Play,
On thy wings of magic flying
Waft our blended song to him who now is far away
Say — I knew not, till we parted, —
Felt not he was half so dear,
Say — I sit here broken hearted,
Vainly sighing for him now he is no longer here.
Say — I watch the dial's shadow,
Chide the slow-paced, lingering hour;
Pensive stray through wood and meadow,
Or sit weeping in my bower.