6
SONG.
Oh breathe not of love,
Or breathe not to me,
If constant for aye
Must your love-motto be.
Where are the things
The fairest on eart;
Is it not in their change
That their beauty has birth?
The neck of the peacock,
The iris’s dyes,
The light in the opal,
The April-day skies:—
Would they be lovely,
As all of them are,
But for the chance
And the change that are there?
Breathe no vow to me,
I will give nonoe of mine;
Love must light in an instant,
As quickly decline.
His blushes, his sighs,
Are bewildering things;
Then away with his fetters,
And give me his wings. L. E. L.
