Both are so chang’d, that did we meet
We might but marvel we had lov’d:
What made our earliest dream so sweet?—
Illusions—long, long since remov’d.
I sorrow—but it is to know
How still some fair deceit unweaves—
To think how all of joy below
Is only joy while it deceives.
I sorrow—but it is to feel
Changes which my own mind hath told:—
What, though time polishes the steel,
Alas! it is less bright than cold.
Have more smiles, and fewer tears;
But tears are now restrain’d for shame:
Task-work the smiles my lip now wears,
That once like rain and sunshine came.
Where is the sweet credulity,
Happy in that fond trust it bore,
Which never dream’d the time would be
When it could hope and trust no more?
Affection, springing warmly forth—
Light word, light laugh, and lighter care
Life’s afternoon is little worth—
The dew and warmth of morning air.
I would not live again love’s hour;
But fain I would again recall
The feelings which upheld its power—
The truth, the hope, that made it thrall.
I would renounce the worldliness,
Now too much with my heart and me;
In one trust more, in one doubt less,
How much of happiness would be!—
Vainer than vain! Why should I ask
Life’s sweet but most deceiving part?
Alas! the bloom upon the cheek
Long, long outlives that of the heart.
L. E. L.—Monthly Magazine.