Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Edward RowlandSill779 The Lovers Song
L
I would no longer see:
Cover mine eyelids close awhile,
And make me blind like thee.
And know not it was fair;
Then might I hear her voice, nor guess
Her starry eyes were there.
Why need it be my fate?
If only she might dream me good
And wise, and be my mate!
Let her no longer see:
If there is hope for me at all,
She must be blind like thee.