Cast me not Away from Your own Heart,
Or mine Shall Ever Weep; in Mourning be.
While You shall Smile and Amble, for Your Part,
In Clouds and Dullness, Life Shall, Waking, Find me.
And as a Dove, whose Wings so sullen beating,
Finds Flight too heavy for her Piteous Breast,
Does shun the Daytide, lest its Glower, cheating,
Never Contrives to Comfort or Give Rest.
Beautiful Original Artwork by: gilraen-ar-feiniel at deviantart.com