Classic Poem

I know thou wilt forget me,
For that fond soul of thine
Turns boldly from the passionate,
And ardent love of mine.
It may be, that thou deemest it
A light and simple thing,
To strike with bold and nervous arm,
The heart's lone mystic string.

Thou wilt not deign to hear the strain,
Thy own dear hand hath woke;
It matters not if ne'er to thee
It's [ sic ] troubling echoes broke.
I know — ay, well, thou wilt forget
I ever dreamed of thee;
Thou lovest not, thou carest not,
My fettered soul to free.

Tho' gay and gifted crowd thee around
The beautiful are thine —
Then how canst thou, oh, lofty one,
Kneel at a lonely shrine?
I ask it not; oh, never more
My soul's cry shalt thou hear —
My heart shall learn in bitterness,
To hide its love so dear.