It's night once more within my feeble heart And, feeble minded, I think back again To what there was, at least on my own part Not what I said, love mine, but that fold ten. You left, and left it all behind, you think; But do you dream it all comes back sometimes? And thus awaken, picturing the brink You stand on, as you try to cheat the tides? Since long we haven't spoken, not and naught, To say I do not miss you? How I would... But would you say that we have fought, or wrought A dream we couldn't, even though we could? Since long you haven't held me in your arms; And, when you did, what was it that you felt? What I felt? It was all your soul, all charms You time again have said there have not dwelt. I saw you yesterday. I think I did. Or had my soul deceived my eyes again? You saw me not. You wouldn't. Yet I hid As though you'd hurt me then, love mine, fold ten. Do you remember me, at least, at all, somehow? Or am I now to you no more than dead? Is it, perhaps, that you do not allow Yourself to think of it? That it you dread?
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