Upon this crimson flame, does it everso fade beneath a fragile wick without the avail to be lite? In the commencing of night, where should my heart bequeath it\'s light; if it should nevermore return what once was bright? What hast left my heart so blue in me, is the absence of comfort from thee. Now looketh among the despondency I see. When I dwell upon my thoughts of thy face, reflects the remembrance of a warmer place. Long have I missed thy benevolent embrace. For my nobility has been more than relevant in the empathy of your trace. When only am I ever in the probity of your compensate, do I seize a relinquished fate. In the antipathy that has stricken me in vain, I shall look upon one\'s reliance as daign, but in the only hands my heart has ever lain. I know not the sympathy of another. How the sky is the grayest of colour, when parted I am from my only lover. Oft have I shown some, my heart so blue; for I am so lonesome without you.