I miss thee from my side, beloved,
I miss thee from my side;
And wearily and drearily
Flows Time's resistless tide.
The world, and all its fleeting joys,
To me are worse than vain,
Until I clasp thee to my heart,
Beloved one, again.

The wildwood and the forest-path,
We used to thread of yore,
With bird and bee have flown with thee,
And gone for ever more!
There is no music in the grove,
No echo on the hill;
But melancholy boughs are there--
And hushed the whip-poor-will.

I miss thee in the town, beloved,
I miss thee in the town;
From morn I grieve till dewy eve
Spreads wide its mantle brown.
My spirit's wings, that once could soar
In Fancy's world of air,
Are crushed and beaten to the ground
By life-corroding care.

No more I hear thy thrilling voice,