RENUNCIATION.
87
For here I said, of a truth I have found,What never before was possessed,A heart so true that no other love,Could live in its pure embrace.
False, have I found him? well, I was vainOr I should not have thought to find,A troth so strong that it would not grow,Weak with the pressure of Time.
Dead ashes are these, faded lily and rose,And worthless trifles the letters and ring,But somehow I wonder, when he knows,That I am aware of this thing—
If he will feel a desire,To put the past so far away,From out his life that not a ray,Of its olden beauty and fire,Shall sometimes steal to the depths,Of his heart, and lift him higher.
Oh! heart, thou art one of the many,That this night bend and weep,Over the ashes of love,And its myriad forms of deceit.
I will not woo thee again to rest,In my heart, thou spoiler of peace,Not if thou wert fairer than dawn,And light as the rain bow's fleece.
