They but dream who believe that the heart can be ever
Found true in its fervent devotion,
That naught in the noon-tide of youth can e’er sever
The bonds of enchanting emotion;
For stern Fate commands—and the day-star grows pale,
And the angels weep softly above,
And we hear, mid the sound of a low, broken wail,
“Oh, what is more faithless than love?”
But some heart must break, though the world still moves on,
Unmindful of smiles and of tears;
And some bosom must throb with the light of life gone,
Alone through the desolate years!