Strange-I live with my heart outside my breast.
Lady, thou holdst it in thyself, 'tis true,
Since I to thee love finally confessed,
And thou returned it, making one of two.
'Tis hard to live without thee in my sight;
I sorely miss thy blissful countenance,
Thy gentle touch which sets my soul to flight,
And thy eyes, which, full of inner light do dance.
I long for thy lips meeting with my own;
Oh! to fall into thy strong arms again,
As we share our deep love in dulcet tones-
Sweeter, as it flows freely and unplanned.
I survive this stress because of one thing:
God has giv'n unto us His blessing.