So did false Fortune, when I strove and fought,
Smiling 'neath half-closed eyelids, when seemed won,
For a brief hour, the beckoning goal I sought—
Then with frustrating touch dimmed all my sun
Blotted the work and faith so brave begun;
But what I gained was none too dearly bought.
I have no wreath to lay before your feet;
There shines no future, and the past is dead;
But you have heard me, and I love you—Sweet.
The low sun crowns with gold your gracious head,