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Thou art all too young and fair
For the sign and omen;
With the sybil, haggard—worn,
What hast thou in common?
Those who read the midnight stars
Through hours long and dreary,
Watch until the cheek is wan,
And the eye is weary.
Such dwell lonely in the walls
Of some ancient college;
And they droop beneath the weight
Of their bitter knowledge.
But thine eyes are warm with light,
And thy cheek with roses;
On thy lip is such a smile
As the dawn discloses.
Lady, lovely lady, mine,
No—thou canst not tell me
What the future may befall,
Nor yet what befell me.
