And for ever Love cannot remain.
Dost thou glance at thyself? Of the “has been” remains not a trace,
And all gladness and sorrow are vain.
The passions? Ah! sooner or later, their malady sweet
Will vanish at reason’s behest;
And life—when the circle of cold contemplation’s complete—
Is a stupid and frivolous jest.
⁂
Alone I pass along the lonely road,
Thro’ gathering mist the pebbly pathway gleams;