Young dreams were poured on thee, for now my love
Hath caught that settled sadness which deep love
On earth must ever wear. Have I not looked
On death, and are they not companions e'er?
And memory, grows it not tearful too?
Do high hopes wither not?
'Twas thus, while life's young spring bloomed on my cheek,
My heart grew sorrowful beyond its years,
And learned to fear and doubt, and for its dreams
And hopes a coffin made, all sealed and hid,