I Miss Thee From My Side, Beloved, I Miss Thee From My Side; And Wearily And Drearily Flows Time'S Resistless Tide. The World, And All Its Fleeting Joys, To Me Are Worse Than Vain, Until I Clasp Thee To My Heart, Beloved One, Again. The Wildwood And The Forest-Path, We Used To Thread Of Yore, With Bird And Bee Have Flown With Thee, And Gone For Ever More! There Is No Music In The Grove, No Echo On The Hill; But Melancholy Boughs Are There-- And Hushed The Whip-Poor-Will. I Miss Thee In The Town, Beloved, I Miss Thee In The Town; From Morn I Grieve Till Dewy Eve Spreads Wide Its Mantle Brown. My SpirIt's Wings, That Once Could Soar In Fancy'S World Of Air, Are Crushed And Beaten To The Ground By Life-Corroding Care. No More I Hear Thy Thrilling Voice, Nor See Thy Winning Face; That Once Would Gleam Like Morning'S Beam, In Mental Pride And Grace: Thy Form Of Matchless Symmetry, In Sweet Perfection Cast-- Is Now The Star Of Memory That Fades Not With The Past. I Miss Thee Everywhere, Beloved, I Miss Thee Everywhere; Both Night And Day Wear Dull Away, And Leave Me In Despair. The Banquet-Hall, The Play, The Ball, And Childhood'S Sportive Glee, Have Lost Their Spell For Me, Beloved, My Souls Is Full Of Thee! Has Rosabel Forgotten Me, And Love I Now In Vain? If That Be So, My Heart Can Know No Rest On Earth Again. A Sad And Weary Lot Is Mine, To Love And Be Forgot; A Sad And Weary Lot Beloved-- A Sad And Weary Lot!