Affection’s best ties round my bosom were spun;
No cloud dimmed the lustre of life’s morning sun.
If I watched o’er my favorite rose-bud’s decay,
And mourned that its bright tints were fading away,
I knew not an anguish more poignant than this,
And the morrow’s young brow wore a halo of bliss.
May’st thou long be a novice to feelings like mine,
When the shades of joy’s noonday proclaimed their decline,
When death has doomed hearts warm as thine to decay,
Or frigid estrangement has torn them away.