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.