Arthur Gray Butler (1831–1909)

I KNOW it will not ease the smart;

I know it will increase the pain;

’Tis torture to a wounded heart;

Yet, O! to see him once again.

Tho’ other lips be press’d to his,

And other arms about him twine,

And tho’ another reign in bliss

In that true heart that once was mine;

Yet, O! I cry it in my grief,

I cry it blindly in my pain,

I know it will not bring relief,

Yet O! to see him once again.