Of love were changed by time, or stilled by death!
Oh! I have drained from even joy the dregs
Of grief, which in its cup have mingled ever.
Perchance its tracery was on my brow,
And all my love, the fond, and deep, and true,
Hath been upon thy lot a shadow cast.
'Tis well that I depart ere it grow deep,
And link the sunshine of its joyous soul
With its dark hues.
Thou wilt remember me? I know thou wilt: