Ah! would that I could love thee less

I think of thee amid the crowd,

Of thee in hours alone

I muse upon thy look and smile,

The last and parting tone;

And while the sigh is on my lip,

And tears my eyes brim o'er,

I wish that I could love thee less,

Or thou could'st love me more.

I think of thee in wint'ry hours,

Of desolating rest,

'Tis like my heart, and thus I love

The mournful winter best.

I cannot wake the melodies

Of joy I priz'd before

Ah! would that I could love thee less,

Or thou could'st love me more.