For other versions of this work, see The Lover Urges the Better Thrift.
SONG.
My Fair, no beauty of thine will last,
Save in my loves eternity.
Thy smiles, that light thee fitfully,
Are lost for ever—their moment past—
Except the few thou givest to me.
Thy sweet words vanish day by day,
As all breath of mortality;
Thy laughter, done, must cease to be.
And all thy dear tones pass away,
Except the few that sing to me.
Hide then within my heart, oh, hide
All thou art loth should go from thee.
Be kinder to thyself and me.
My cupfull from this river's tide
Shall never reach the long sad sea.