1   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. 2   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. 3   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. 4   Oh lady! bless’d be that tear—      It falls for one who cannot weep;   Such precious drops are doubly dear      To those whose eyes no tear may steep. 5   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. 6   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.