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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
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IV.
The spring of my sweet life thou madest thine;And on my summer glories thou hast fed:
And now the vernal melodies are dead
On lips that mourn for joys no longer mine.
The summer brilliance now hath ceased to shine
Upon a brow so oft disquieted
By agonising doubts: thy love is fled;
And thou art flying—how dare I repine?
How could I hope so great a love would cleave
To one whose fault too well was known to thee?
Lament not, O my love; or, if thou grieve,
For me lament not, though my grief thou share;
For I have known in dreams my destiny,
And what I ought to welcome I can bear.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |