Such is the splendour of my evening hours
Whose time of youth was wasted in the shade.
I shall not wait to see to-morrow’s morning,
Too bright the golden dawn for me,—too bright,—
How could I bear thine eyes’ unconscious scorning
Of what so pleased thee in the dimmer light?
It may be wine had brought some brief illusion,
Filling thy brain with rainbow fantasy,
Or youth, with moonlight, making sweet collusion,
Threw an alluring glamour over me