Farewell, my joy! For other hearts the Spring, For other eyes the roses; but for me The iron gate, the shadowy cypress-tree, The solemn dirge that cloistered voices sing. Farewell, my joy! Alas, I loved thee well! For no light matter had I let thee go. I cherished thee in rain, and wind, and snow. I bound thee to my breast with many a spell. Hail and farewell, my joy! If I might give To one sweet friend the rapture that I miss, Read in her eyes that ecstasy of bliss, Tho' death were in my own, I yet should live.
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