O lovely cradle of my pain,
O lovely tombstone of my rest,
O lovely town, our paths must twain:
So fare thee well; we gave our best.
So fare thee well, O hallow bound!
Where you shall stray, there holds my Grace;
So fare thee well, O hallow ground!
Where first I saw Her soft steps pace.
Yet had I not beheld Her once,
O sweetest Queen of my poor heart!
So never would it have been thus,
That misery and I shan't part.
Nor did I wish to touch your core,
No love would I have gouged to flow;
A quiet life I'd lead, no more,
Wherever your warm breath might blow.
And yet 'tis you who bids me hence,
Your mouth befouled with bitter word;
And madness churns my every sense,
And my poor heart falls sick and hurt.
Yet I lurch forth on walking stick,
My dull limbs droop and bend the way;
Until my tired head will crick
So distant in a cooling grave.