Have the dreams of thy youth departed,
While the bloom of thy youth remains?
Has the gilding worn off from thy pleasure,
And left thee only the chains?
Thou art young, and the world is before thee;
New pleasures will ride on the old;
'Tis too soon for thy brow to be clouded,
Too soon for thy heart to be cold.
Has wealth been the dream that has vanished?
Gold and silver have many a mine;
Plough the deep, seek the populous city,
And the wealth of the East may be thine.
Has fame been the thing to allure thee?
The blast which her trumpet has blown
To the name of another to-day,
To-morrow may be thine own.
Hast thou listened the song of the charmer,
Till pleasure has palled on thy soul?
Has thy race been the race of ambition,
While others have reached the goal?
For all these still hope has a rainbow,
A something remains to be done;
The wounds of thy heart may be healed—
There's a cure for all sorrows but one.
But if, as thy pale brow confesses,
That sorrow 'tis thine to endure,
Then go to thy grave in thy sadness—
Love, betrayed, has no hope of a cure.
L. E. L.
