I shall seeThe hour of death draw near to me,Hope, blossoming within my heart. . . .
Alas! to seize the moment When the heart inclines to heart, And press a suit with passion, Is not a woman's part. If man come not to gather The roses where they stand, They fade among their foliage, They cannot seek his hand.
Maidens hearts are always soft: Would that men's were truer!
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