Lost and Never Found

If I speak with melancholy
If you sense despair,
Think no more of it
I have not quit –
It is a mask I wear.

One which, for sure, I do not relish;
I am not given to gloom.
Yet all unbidden,
No truth forbidden,
I cannot help but speak of doom.

For once upon a wintertime,
Hoar frost upon the ground,
I lost my love
To Him above:
Never again to be found.

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