And wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! Speak those words again: Yet if they grieve thee, say not so I would not give that bosom pain. My heart is sad, my hopes are gone, My blood runs coldly through my breast; And when I perish, thou alone Wilt sigh above my place of rest. And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace Doth through my cloud of anguish shine: And for a while my sorrows cease, To know thy heart hath felt for mine. Oh lady! Blessed be that tear It falls for one who cannot weep; Such precious drops are doubly dear To those whose eyes no tear may steep. Sweet lady! Once my heart was warm With every feeling soft as thine; But Beauty's self hath ceased to charm A wretch created to repine. Yet wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! Speak those words again: Yet if they grieve thee, say not so I would not give that bosom pain.