< The Sorcerer
Constance

When I rejoice,
  He shows no pleasure.
When I am sad,
  It grieves him not.
His solemn voice
  Has tones I treasure —
My heart they glad,
  They solace my unhappy lot!
When I despond,
  My woe they chasten —
When I take heart,
  My hope they cheer;
With folly fond
  To him I hasten —
From him apart,
  My life is very sad and drear!

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