 | Poems and Translations |  |
31
TO SORROW.
I loved sweet Sorrow in my early youth:
To-day we are but friends.
Companions then, and now she only lends
Her presence for a while,
Graced with a smile
Of more content than ruth.
To-day we are but friends.
Companions then, and now she only lends
Her presence for a while,
Graced with a smile
Of more content than ruth.
She loved me well in those confiding days;
Perhaps she loves me still.
'Tis I am traitor, careless to fulfil
The faith we pledged of old:
'Tis I am cold,
Who turn me from her gaze.
Perhaps she loves me still.
'Tis I am traitor, careless to fulfil
The faith we pledged of old:
'Tis I am cold,
Who turn me from her gaze.
Reproachful Sorrow! art thou yet as fond?
Ah me! my heart is dead.
In that grey dawn our loves so fairly sped,
Thou wooest now in vain:
And yet remain!
I will not look beyond.
Ah me! my heart is dead.
In that grey dawn our loves so fairly sped,
Thou wooest now in vain:
And yet remain!
I will not look beyond.
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