Time was when thou fain wouldst hear
All my tale of misery;
If a tear were in my eye,
Thou therewith wouldst shed a tear:
Then Mireno was in truth
He on whom thine eyes were set,
Changed thou art and dost forget,
All the joyous time of youth!
Did that error but endure,
Tempered were my bitter sadness;
Fancied joy brings greater gladness
Than a loss well known and sure.
But 'twas thou that didst ordain
My misfortune and distress,
Making by thy fickleness
False my bliss and sure my pain.
From thy words so full of lies
And my ears that, weak, believed,
Fancied joys have I received,
And undoubted miseries.
Seeming pleasures once me crowned
With the buoyancy of youth,
But the evils in their truth
To my sorrow do redound.
Hence I judge and know full well,
And it cannot be denied,
That its glory and its pride
Love hath at the gates of hell;
Whoso doth not set his gaze
Upon Love, from joy to pain
By oblivion and disdain
Is brought in a moment's space.
With such swiftness thou hast wrought
This mysterious transformation,
That already desperation
And not gain becomes my lot;
For methinks 'twas yesterday
Thou didst love me, or didst feign
Love at least, for this is plain,
What I must believe to-day.
Still thy pleasing voice I hear
Uttering sweet and witty things,
Still thy loving reasonings
Are resounding in my ear;
But these memories at last,
Though they please, yet torture more,
Since away the breezes bore
Words and works adown the blast.
Wert thou she who in her pride
Swore her days on earth should end,
If she did not love her friend
More than all she loved beside?
Wert thou she who to me showed
How she loved with such good-will,
That, although I was her ill,
She did hold me for her good?
Oh if but I could thee hate
As thou hatest me, thy name
Would I brand with fitting shame,
Since thou'rt thankless and ingrate;
Yet it useless is for me
Thus to hate thee and disdain,
Love to me is greater gain
Than forgetfulness to thee.
To my singing sad lament,
To my springtime winter's snow,
To my laughter bitter woe
Thy relentless hand hath sent
It has changed my joyous dress
To the garb of those that mourn,
Love's soft flower to poignant thorn,
Love's sweet fruit to bitterness.