Minorchord

The flowers have their bold bees to woo them; The brooks have their fresh rains to feed them; The nights have their stars to o'erstrew them The dawns have their pure dews to bead them: Yet my steps go darkling, With but the dim sparkling Of memory's lamp, love, to lead them!

The sea hath its waves to make sheen with; The winds have their music to sigh with; The groves have their boughs to be green with; The birds have their fleet wings to fly with: But I, in my lonely Allegiance, have only This deep-wounded heart, love, to die with!