 | Euphrenia or the Test of Love |  |
IX.
A few months o'er (how swift they flewWith her that lady fair)
Produced a gradual change in him,
Which filled her with despair.
He who, but some short weeks gone by,
Had known no higher joy,
Than with his loved one's tresses
Continually to toy,
Now counts each hour of the day,
Each minute of the hour,
And finds time lag but wearily,
E'en in his lady's bower.
| Euphrenia or the Test of Love | |