I LOVE you, but a sense of pain
Is in my heart and in my brain ;
Now, when your voice and eyes are kind,
May I reveal my complex mind ?

Though I am yours, it is my curse
Some ideal passion to rehearse :
I dream of one that 's not like you,
Never of one that 's half so true.

To quell these yearnings, vague and wild,
I often kneel by our dear child,
In still, dark nights (you are asleep),

And hold his hands, and try to weep.