Yes, as I thought. 'Tis the old, old tale:
He loves you; dreams of you night and day;
With hope he brightens, with dread turns pale,—
Truths, dear sister, or babblings gray.
VI.
Well, darling, believe then, and cynic thought
Shall fade away in your love's sweet sun.
He is not worldly nor fashion-taught;
I would not darken new light begun.