Nor can I, as your bridegrooms do,

Talk of my raptures. Oh, how sore

The fond romance of twenty-two

Is parodied ere thirty-four!

To-night I shake hands with the past,—

Familiar years, adieu, adieu!

An unknown door is open cast,

An empty future wide and new

Stands waiting. O ye naked rooms,

Void, desolate, without a charm,