That comes and goes with each caprice.
Ah! no, the love for which we yearn
Will through all age and error burn,
Will live and light our winter days,
And be the same in blame and praise.
True love is trusting, patient, pure,
Is constant, kind, and will endure;
It never chides, but soothes the breast
That sighs for sympathy and rest.
One broken chord may wreck a life,