Where is my heart? Alas! not here.
It wander’d from my careful keeping,
And “stole away” one summer’s eve
When I was too securely sleeping.
I called it back. Ah, truant heart,
It would not heed the timely warning,
But vow’d, with many a blush and smile,
It would return before the morning.
The morning came; but not my heart;
I’ve never seen the wanderer since,
And can’t forgive the faithless elf
For keeping me in such suspense.
I’ve lost my heart. What must be done?
’Tis plain I cannot live without it;
Perchance, someday it may return,
If I don’t say too much about it.
For hearts, I know, are so perverse,
That if they think you prize them highly,
They give themselves conceited airs,
And very often treat you vilely.
And so I’ll try to hear my loss,
My wounded feelings I must smother,
I may, perhaps, repair my loss,
And some day find myself another.
Will no one volunteer a loan
Until I can get back my own?
The heart I’ve lost is warm and light,
And has a trick of loving blindly,
If you should find the wayward sprite,
I hope you’ll treat it very kindly.
Should you neglect it, ’twill rebel,
And surely die if you are cruel;
But if you understand it well,
You’ll find this heart a priceless jewel.
So if it chance to come your way,
Don’t keep it there at any cost,
Unless you’ll use it tenderly,
But send me back the heart I’ve lost!