Absence is union dear
When hearts are one;
Union is absence drear,
When love is done.

O wanderer heart! avoid that haunted grove,
The body of thy love;
Nor in her bosom stray, wild mountain fells
Where Love, the robber, dwells.

I, like a poor fakir,
Wander from door to door,
Bearing my load of pain;
But thou, O Ever-Dear,
Thou comest never more
Unto my door again.

If I behold her, I am mad;
And if I see her not, I die;
O Love, to tender hearts like mine
Thou art a great calamity.

You, sprucely clothed, laugh at my threadbare gown;
'T is threadbare truly, Zoilus, but my own!

What thou hast done, never an enemy
Would practise on a bitterly-hated foe;
And yet, my friend,
I took thee for a friend, and did not know.

Although your gate bar my way,
You cannot check the spring's play;
For free above your proud wall
There hangs one apricot spray.

Each morn I see the Sun in majesty
Come back to shine thy rival as before,
But O what ages has it taken thee
To come to me — if thou wilt come — once more!

Ah! I am a firefly eating
Knotgrass in a thatched hut.

Tired with travelling
I think of a lodging;
Ah! the drooping wistaria!