A FAREWELL.
’Tis true that once I sighed for
That tender heart of thine;
I thought I could have died for
The bliss I now decline.
Too many swains enchanted,
Since then within that heart,
Have had sweet shelter granted
For me to claim a part.
Farewell, dear one, thy sorrow,
Thy tears are all in vain;
That tender heart to-morrow
Will find some newer swain.
Thou hast no necromancy
To restore the passing sway,
Of what was but the fancy
Of an idle summer day.