Dost smiles and tears, with changing charm, to every bosom bring,
Thy love is but a masquerade, and thou with grudging hand
Scatterest the crumbs of hope on all the crowds that round thee stand.
With thee there is no other law of love and kindliness
But what alone may give thee joy and garland of success.
With each new plume thy maidens in thy dark locks arrange,
With each new tinted garment thy thoughts, thy fancies change.
I own that thou art fairer than even the fairest flower
That at the flush of early dawn bedecks the summer's bower.
But, ah, the flowers in summer hours change even till they fade,