THE INCONSTANT.
And deem'st thou that my heart could be
A trifle and a toy for thee;
A trophy, to be wooed and won;
Taken but to be trampled on!
And deem'st thou that my heart would spring,
A young bird on its summer wing,
To be one moment caged in thine,
Then left, poor prisoner, to pine.
You knew me not if you could deem
I should weep o'er a vanished dream;
The willow was not made for me,
My wreath is of the aspen tree.
There is in southern lands a breeze
Which sweeps with changeless course the seas;
Fixed to one point, oh, faithful gale,
Thou art not for my wandering sail!
I will not own a brighter eye
Than mine has caught your truant sigh,—
I will not own a fairer brow
Than mine has made you captive now.
I deem my eye is still as bright
As when it fixed your charmed sight;
I deem my brow is still as fair
As when you gazed and worshipped there.
But well I know that they have been
Once, twice, or thrice already seen,—
I know the charm of change too well
Not to bow down to such a spell.
Love's vows are writ upon the wave,
And are unto themselves a grave.
They call Love ever young; but he
Is as old age in memory.
Farewell then, sometime love of mine,
Yet claim I gratitude of thine;
Surely that love is something worth
Whose death is laughing as its birth.
L. E. L.