To make her days with pleasures rife;
She would not have it so.
I loved her; for she bent on me
A smile and look of sorcery;
Until my heart could not be free;
Alas! that such deceit should be;—
But she would have it so.
I loved her; and my heart was broke,
Beneath the heavy, crushing stroke;
As 'neath the lightning dies the oak