html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }Iplaced—it was not ten years since—
Sweet coz, a heart within thy keeping,
In which there was no pulse of prince,
Of poet, or of hero, leaping,
But it was generous, warm and true,
True to itself, and true to thee:
And toward thine own it fondly drew—
Drew almost in idolatry.
I came to thee when years had fled,
To learn how well the charge was kept;
That heart—it was so altered,
Upon the change I could have wept:
The buoyant hope, the daring aim,
The independence, stern and high;
Spirit, misfortune could not tame,
And pride that might the worst defy—
All, all were gone—and in their stead
Were bitter and were blasted feelings:
And thoughts Despair so far had led
They shudder'd at their own revealings.
Yet I—although Distrust did prey
Within that heart so wildly then
It ate the better half away,
I left the rest with thee again.
Perhaps that heart in worthier case,
I thought thou wouldst at last restore;
Perhaps I hoped thou mightst replace
With thine, the one abused before:
Perhaps there was—the truth as well
May out at once—perhaps there was in
Those matchless eyes so strong a spell
I could not help it, witching cousin.
Well, it was thine—thine only still,
A little worse, perhaps, for wear;
But firm, despite of every ill
Which Fate and thou had gather'd there.
Yet now, when Youth and Hope are past,
And care will soon make manhood gray,
I think—I think from thee at last
That I must take that heart away.
Still, if it grieve thee to restore
A trust that's held so carelessly,
Or if, when asking back once more
The heart I left in pledge with thee,
It may, in spite of all I've said,
By some odd chance with thine be blended,
Why, cousin, give me that instead,
And all our business here is ended.