XXVI. A SONG. 1. THOU art not false, but thou art fickle, To those thyself so fondly sought; The tears that thou hast forced to trickle 'Tis this which breaks the heart thou grievest, Too well thou lov'st-too soon thou leavest. 2. The wholly false the heart despises, And spurns deceiver and deceit; But she who not a thought disguises, Whose love is as sincere as sweet, When she can change who loved so truly, It feels what mine has felt so newly. 3. To dream of joy and wake to sorrow And if, when conscious on the morrow, That cheated us in slumber only, To leave the waking soul more lonely, 4. What must they feel whom no false vision, But truest, tenderest passion warmed? Sincere, but swift in sad transition, As if a dream alone had charmed? Ah! sure such grief is fancy's scheming, And all thy change can be but dreaming! XXVII. On being asked what was the "Origin of Love?" THE "Origin of Love!"-Ah why That cruel question ask of me, When thou may'st read in many an eye He starts to life on seeing thee? And should'st thou seek his end to know: My heart forebodes, my fears foresee, He'll linger long in silent woe; But live-until I cease to be. |