Canst thou, Annette, thy lover see?
His trembling love unfolded hear?
And mark the while th’ impassion’d tear,
Th’ impassion’d tear of agony?
Adown his anxious features steal,
Nor then one burst of pity feel?
But, as bereav’d of ev’ry sense,
Look on with cold indifference.
Go, then, Annette, in all thy charms,
Go bless some gayer, happier, arms;
Go, rest secure, thy fear give o’er,
These eyes shall follow thee no more;
And never shall these lips impart
One thought of all that rends my heart.
Yet, since will burst the frequent sigh,
And since the tear will ever fall,
From thee and from the world I’ll fly;
Deserts shall hide, shall silence, all.