I’ll blame thee not—love fond and true
May still be won in beauty’s bowers,
Though I may never dare again,
To wear a wreath of fading flowers.
I’ll blame thee not—for thoughts of love
And thee no more my bosom fill;
And of that dream there lingers scarce
One trace of its deep burning thrill.
I’ll blame thee not—I smile to see
The golden vision pass away,