How soon the spell goes by;
How falsehood follows fast on love,
Treachery on trust, and guile on truth;
Until the heart, so full in youth,
In age is waste and dry
Worn heart, and dried-up fount—for ye
The world is fair in vain;
Birds sing, boughs wave, and winds are free;
But song, nor shade, nor breath, can more
Your joyful gush of life restore—