ILLUSIONS PERDUES
I thought that I would dwell with love
And love with me, till, ah! one day
I found that he could faithless prove—
He spread his wings and flew away.
I thought that I would sing for fame;
I stretched my hands to grasp the wreath,
Which in my eager clutch became
Sere leaflets, withered by a breath.
I thought that I would gather wealth,
To clothe and educate the poor,
To reach unto the stricken, health—
'Twas dust that strewed my garner-floor.
I think that when I die, my soul
Will melt into another land
Of all things perfected—the goal
Of what we cannot understand.
And yet, perchance, I may but go
Six feet, no further, merged in clay,
To be the food of flowers—and so
My last illusion will decay.
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON