Never wedding, ever wooing, Still a lovelorn heart pursuing, Read you not the wrong you're doing In my cheek's pale hue? All my life with sorrow strewing; Wed or cease to woo.
I'll meet the raging of the skies, but not an angry father.
The patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree.
He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.
Beauty's witching sway is now to me a star that's fallen-a dream that's passed away.
Our purpose is to grow up and become love