Oh! do not sing--my soul is wrung
When those sweet tones salute mine ear;
Thou canst not sing as _thou hast_ sung--
As _I have heard_, I cannot hear.
Then do not breathe to me one strain
Of those I loved in years gone by;
Their melody can only throw
A darker cloud upon my sky.
Speak not to me!--thine accents fall
By far too sadly on my ear;
They _told_ of love, and hope, and joy--
They _tell_ of life made lone and drear.
No word speak thou! The tones are changed
That breathed to me thy young heart's vow
Of all-enduring fondness; aye!
Thou canst but speak in _kindness_ now.
And worse than all would be the smile
Which once was mine, and only mine;
Thou wert my hope--thy love my pride--
Thy heart my spirit's chosen shrine.
But _now_--oh! smile not on me _now_;
'Tis insult--worse, 'tis mockery!
Estranged, and cold, and false, thou art;
Smile if thou wilt--but not on me.