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Werter to Charlotte Lost to the world, to all its pleasures lost, And torn from thee, whom I ador'd the most 'Ere yet my Soul prepares to wing ^ [[addition]] its [[/addition]] flight To the pure regions of eternal light; Let me awhile the destin'd blow restrain To weep my passion, and unfold my pain. The fatal progress of my love t'impart And ope the secret sluices of my heart; Pour out my Soul in deluges of greif, Then let the loosen'd Soul, triumphant soar To those bright realms where anguish [[addition]] pains [[/addition]] no more. To thee dear Charlotte be these lines addrest Thou fair, thou fatal conqu'ror of my breast Let this sad letter faithfully impart The woeful records of a wounded heart; With pity's Eye thou charming fair one! see How much I lov'd, how much I bore for thee! Trace ev'ry pang, and tremble, while you read What dire effects from hapless love proceed, His ev'ry pang to thee does Werter owe To thee, sweet guiltless cause of all his woe!
