My faint spirit was sitting
In the light of thy looks, my love,
It panted for thee like the hind at noon
For the brooks, my love, my love.

Thy barb, whose hoofs out-speed the tempest's flight.
Bore thee far from me;
My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,
Did companion thee.
My heart, my heart did companion thee.

Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed,
Or the death, the death they bear,
The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove
With the wings, the wings of care;

In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,
Shall mine cling to thee,
Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love,
It may bring, may bring to thee.
To thee, my love,
It may bring to thee.