Classic Poem

Oh, thou wilt never know how fond a love
This heart could have felt for thee;
Or ever dream how love and friendship strove,
Through long, long hours for mastery;
How passion often urged, but pride restrained,
Or how thy coldness grieved, but kindness pained.

How hours have soothed the feelings, then that were
The torture of my lonely life—
But ever yet will often fall a tear,
O'er wildest hopes and thoughts then rife;
Where'er recalled by passing word or tone,
Fond memory mirrors all those visions flown.

For much I fear he has won thy heart,
And thou art but a friend to me;
I feel that in thy love I have no part,
I know how much he worships thee!
Yet still often will there rise a gleam of hope,
Wherewith but only time and pride can cope.