human
Ah! not the love that should have bless'd So young, so innocent a breast; Not the pure, open, prosperous love, That, pledged on earth and seal'd above, Grows in the world's approving eyes, In friendship's smile and home's caress, Collecting all the heart's sweet ties Into one knot of happiness! No, Hinda, no--thy fatal flame Is nursed in silence, sorrow, shame.-- A passion, without hope or pleasure, In thy soul's darkness buried deep, It lies, like some ill-gotten treasure,-- Some idol, without shrine or name, O'er which its pale-eyed votaries keep Unholy watch, while others sleep!