thou dost spurn me, and back retreat Yet 'tis thyself, thy fond kind looks I
If thou dost feel 'tis I, then come with me!
Ay, if the grave's without, - If death lurk there! Hence to the everlasting
resting - place, And not one step beyond! - Thou'rt leaving me? Oh Henry!
would that I could go with thee!
Thou canst! But will it! Open stands the door.
I dare not go! I've naught to hope for more. What boots it to escape? They
lurk for me! 'Tis wretched to beg, as I must do, And with an evil conscience