Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Infidelity

Infidelity.

Thou who scornest truth divine,Say what joy, what hope is thine?Is this world from sorrow free?Is this world enough for thee?No; for care corrodes thy heart.Art thou willing to depart?No; thy nature bids thee shrinkFrom the void abyss's brink.Thou may'st laugh, in broad sunshine;Scoff, when sparkles the red wine;Thou must tremble, when deep nightShuts the pageant from thy sight.Morning comes, and thou blasphemest;Yet another day thou deemestThine; but soon its light will wane;Then thy warning comes again.There's a morrow with no night—Broad and blazing, endless light!Should its dawn thy dreams o'ertake,Better thou didst never wake.