Jane Wilde

27 December 1821 – 3 February 1896

Fatality.From The German

One glance from thy dark eyes is all I pray for,
One word from thy lips breathed on mine,
One clasp of thy dear hand as a last favour
Then go—I’ll never more repine.

Yet, thoughts of thee will dim my eyes with weeping,
In the noon‐day’s glorious light,
And dreams of thee will haunt my troubled sleeping,
’Neath the shadows of the night.

A fatal gulf for ever lies between us,
I know we dare not speak of love,
Yet angels, purest angels, had they seen us,
Might well have pardoned from above.

The future is too dark for my sad seeing;
I gaze, but, weeping, turn away
No hope, alas! of our ever being
Less sad than we are here this day.
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