'Twas for thee I burned—thou burnedst―
Still I burn, but thou art frozen;
Thou dost hide thy thoughts—returnedst
Not the love which thou hadst chosen.
Still thy heart, to thee appealing,
Tells thee of thy faithless deeds;
Mine, all shades of misery feeling,
Only dreams, and weeps, and bleeds.
All dispersed, and all departed,
Are those visions once so drear;
Wounded, bleeding, broken-hearted,
No reproaches shalt thou hear.
May thy bliss desert thee never—
Never let my gloom be thine;
I, with proud emotion ever,
Think that Minni's heart was mine.