Thou’st proved, as man too often proves,
A rover—but I love thee still!
Yet think not that my spirit stoops
To bind thee captive in my train!—
Love’s not a flower, at sunset droops,
But smiles when comes her god again!
Thy words, which fall unheeded now,
Could once my heart-strings madly thrill!
Love’s golden chain and burning vow
Are broken—but I love thee still!