Not Lived in Vain

Have I not worshipped thee in tender lays, 
And told in barren rhymes my love for thee; 
And now I wish that I no more might see, 
Or ne'er had seen that fair, alluring face. 
Or as a tune felt that lithe body's grace 
Melt through my heart, that leap'd up eagerly 
With joy of hope: now hope no more may be; 
For hope lies dead, amid the dear, dead days. 

Still, if the bitterness of unshed tears. 
And burden of a spirit sorely tried, 
Did e'er with joy of maiden's victory fill 
Thy woman's heart, then surely these sad years 
Have been well lived, nor, sweet, would I have died 
Till thy heart had of mine its perfect will.