Classic Poem

Does Pity give, tho' Fate denies,
And to my wounds her balm impart?
O speak — with those expressive eyes!
Let one low sigh escape thine heart.

The gazing crowd shall never guess
What anxious, watchful Love can see;
Nor know what those soft looks express,
Nor dream that sigh is meant for me.

Ah! words are useless, words are vain,
Thy generous sympathy to prove;
And well that sigh, those looks explain,
That Clara mourns my hapless love.