Which had been better never heard.
Thou, and thy love, were of that time
When life was but a passion—rhyme;
When I knew not that care might come
Even to that sweet mountain home;
When stars and streams and flowers were part
Of this, then calmly beating heart.
So, when the martyr's cross was mine,
I chose another love than thine;
Our hearts, but not our souls, were mates,