Written ca. 1825
When upon the western cloud
Hang day's fading roses,
When the linnet sings aloud
And the twilight closes,--
As I mark the moss-grown spring
By the twisted holly,
Pensive thoughts of thee shall bring
Love's own melancholy.
Lo, the crescent moon on high
Lights the half-choked fountain;
Wandering winds steal sadly by
From the hazy mountain.
Yet that moon shall wax and wane,
Summer winds pass over, --
Ne'er the heart shall love again
Of the slighted lover!
When the russet autumn brings
Blighting to the forest,
Twisted close the ivy clings
To the oak that's hoarest;
So the love of other days
Cheers the broken-hearted;
But if once our love decays
'Tis for aye departed.
When the hoar-frost nips the leaf,
Pale and sear it lingers,
Wasted in its beauty brief
By decay's cold fingers;
Yet unchanged it ne'er again
Shall its bloom recover;--
Thus the heart shall aye remain
Of the slighted lover.
Love is like the songs we hear
O'er the moonlit ocean;
Youth, the spring-time of a year
Passed in Love's devotion!
Roses of their bloom bereft
Breathe a fragrance sweeter;
Beauty has no fragrance left
Though its bloom is fleeter.
Then when tranquil evening throws
Twilight shades above thee,
And when early morning glows,--
Think on those that love thee!
For an interval of years
We ere long must sever,
But the hearts that love endears
Shall be parted never.