A lover never sees the faults of the one he loves till the enchantment is over.
1186
THE TRAGEDY OF FICKLE LOVE.
He came too late! Neglect had tried
Her constancy too long;
Her love had yielded to her pride
And the deep sense of wrong.
She scorned the offering of a heart
Which lingered on its way,
Till it could no delight impart,
Nor spread one cheering ray.
He came too late! At once he felt
That all his power was o'er;
Indifference in her calm smile dwelt—
She thought of him no more.
Anger and grief had passed away,
Her heart and thoughts were free;
She met him, and her words were gay
No spell had memory.
He came too late! Her countless dreams
Of hope had long since flown;
No charms dwelt in his chosen themes,
Nor in his whispered tone.
And when, with word and smile, he tried
Affection still to prove,
She nerved her heart with woman's pride
And spurned his fickle love.
—Unknown.
