What comfort can I send thee sweet,
Save that Pain is—we know not why,
Save that Pain lives—and will not die?
What comfort? I can but repeat
The old philosophy.
Bear and be patient O my sweet!
Pain is—but is our pleasure over?
Pain lives—but live I not thy lover,
Through all the changes we may meet
And all new years discover?
What comfort can I send thee sweet?
Pain is—and none may flee from it,
Pain lives—nor softens any whit—
A fire with a constant heat
Our birth sees firstly lit.
Bear and be patient O my sweet!
Pain is—and none can tell us why
Pain lives—and dies not till we die,
Till the heart's pulse has ceased to beat.
And after—then come I.
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