The Village Churchyard :: :: University of Virginia Library

The tear is long dried from thy cheek,
Since last we met—and met to part;
And thou could'st dream, such doom would break
Thy young and bounding heart.

I told thee—did I tell thee true?—
Thou strangely wert mistaken;
That ere Spring's firstling flowers burst through,
Thy faith might be forsaken!

And then, upon the wild bough near,
Hung Winter's last and frailest gems;
And a faint flush began to appear
Beneath his crystal diadems!

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And Winter then went hastening by—
His thin robes eddying in the blasts
Of haughty March, whose whirlwind-cry
Pealed through the long-deserted wastes.

I told thee how the world would win
Each purpose of thy soul away;
And tame the fiery heart within,
And mould thy spirit to its sway.

I told thee how the world would claim
Thy worship for its thousand shrines;
Power, Honour, Pleasure, Wealth, and Fame—
Its zodiac of conflicting signs!

I told thee Woman's heart was proved
An unchanged, unforgetting thing;
That Man's—if Man's hath ever loved—
Loves while 't is on the wandering wing.

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But fervently didst thou deny
Such bitter, bitter truths could be;
And with the unanswerable sigh,
Forced my heart's lingering doubts to flee.

The tear is long dried from thy cheek,
Since last we met—and met to part!
If any heart is doomed to break,
I fear 't will be this wretched heart!

As, fascinated by the snake,
The bird all moveless, helpless stays:
So, till my heavy heart shall break,
My memory on that hour must gaze!