I do not love Thee

    And yet when thou art absent I am sad；

    And envy even the bright blue sky above thee，

    Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad.

    I do not love thee！—yet， I know not why，

    Whate‘er thou dost seems still well done， to me：

    And often in my solitude¹ I sigh

    That those I do love are not more like thee！

    I do not love thee！—yet， when thou art gone，

    I hate the sound （though those who speak be dear）

    Which breaks the lingering echo of the tone

    Thy voice of music leaves upon my ear.

    I do not love thee！—yet thy speaking eyes，

    With their deep， bright， and most expressive² blue，

    Between me and the midnight heaven arise，

    Oftener than any eyes I ever knew.

    I know I do not love thee！ yet， alas³！

    Others will scarcely trust my candid⁴ heart；

    And oft I catch them smiling as they pass，

    Because they see me gazing where thou art.