by Arthur Sullivan

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English source: Lionel H. Lewin

There was deep, calm shade in the cloister,
Though the burning sun was high -
But no peace there, to her despair
But ever a mournful cry, a mournful cry,
"Ah! me! my Love, that cloudless love,
Not less sweet for its bitter stain,
It is fair that a love so pleasant prove,
Only to end in pain?"

There was hollow roll of thunder
And rifts in many a cloud -
And still to her heart as she walk'd apart,
She murmur'd half aloud, half aloud,
"Ah! me! that hour, that dark wild hour,
When hand held hand in a last long strain,
And my true knight went forth from my sight -
Never to come again."

There was rain with ceaseless plashing,
From a sullen, low'ring sky,
And who can know what an utter woe,
Wrung out her passionate cry -
"Ah! me! these tears, these blinding tears,
Useless now tho' they fall like rain,
From a heart that breaks thro' the languid years
With a love that is all in vain!"


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