html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }Ithought she was wayward—inconstant in part,
But thought not the weakness e'er reached to her heart;
'Twas a lightness of mood which but tempted a lover
The more the true way to that heart to discover.
What changeful seem'd there, was the play of the wave
Which veileth the depth of the firm ocean cave;
I cared not how fitful that light wave might flow,
I would dive for the pearl of affection below.
I won it, methought! and now welcome the strife,
The burthen, the toil, the worst struggles of life;
Come trouble—come sorrow—come pain and despair,
We divide ills, that each for the other would bear I
I believed—I could swear—there was that in her breast,
That soul of wild feeling, which needs but the test,
To leap like a falchion—bright, glowing, and true,
To the hand which its worth and its temper best knew.
And what was the struggle which tested love's power?
What fortune, so soon, could bring trial's dark hour?
Did some shadow of evil first make her heart quail?
Or the worst prove at once that her truth could ne'er fail?
I painted it sternly, the lot she might share!
I took from Love's wing all the gloss it may bear;
I told her how often his comrade is Care!
I appeal'd to her heart—and her heart it was—where?