You make the sunshine of my heart 
And its tempestuous shower; 
Sometimes the thought of you is like 
A lilac bush in flower, 
Yea, honey-sweet as hives in May. 
And then the pang of it will strike 
My bosom with a fiery smart, 
As though love's deeply planted dart 
Drained all its life away. 

My thoughts hum round you, Dear, like bees 
About a bank of thyme, 
Or round the yellow blossoms of 
The heavy-scented lime. 
Ah, sweeter you than honeydew, 
Yet dark the ways of love, 
For it has robbed my soul of peace, 
And marred my life and turned heart's-ease 
Into funereal rue.