Oh, I am very weary, br Though tears no longer flow; br My eyes are tires of weeping, br My heart is sick of woe; br br My life is very lonely, br My days pass heavily, br I'm wearing of repining, br Wilt thou not come to me? br br Oh, didst thou know my longings br For thee, from day to day, br My hopes, so often blighted, br Thou wouldst not thus delay!br br Anne Brontëbr br