Poem by George Crabbe

To a Lady, on Leaving Her at Sidmouth

YES! I must go,—it is a part
  That cruel Fortune has assigned me,—
Must go, and leave, with aching heart,
  What most that heart adores behind me.

Still I shall see thee on the sand
  Till o’er the space the water rises,
Still shall in thought behind thee stand,
  And watch the look affection prizes.

But ah! what youth attends thy side,
  With eyes that speak his soul’s devotion,—
To thee as constant as the tide	
  That gives the restless wave its motion?

Still in thy train must he appear
  Forever gazing, smiling, talking?
Ah! would that he were sighing here,
  And I were there beside thee walking!

Wilt thou to him that arm resign,
  Who is to that dear heart a stranger,
And with those matchless looks of thine
  The peace of this poor youth endanger?

Away this fear that fancy makes
  When night and death’s dull image hide thee:
In sleep, to thee my mind awakes;
  Awake, it sleeps to all beside thee.

Who could in absence bear the pain
  Of all this fierce and jealous feeling,
But for the hope to meet again,
  And see those smiles all sorrow healing?

Then shall we meet, and, heart to heart,
  Lament that fate such friends should sever,
And I shall say, “We must not part”;
  And thou wilt answer, “Never, never!”

1. Lines Written at Warwick
2. On the Death of William Springall Levett
3. Concluding Lines of Prize Poem on Hope
4. Cupid
5. Despair

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