i heard a gentle maiden, in the spring,

set her sweet sighs to music, and thus sing:

“fly through the world, and i will follow thee,

only for looks that may turn back on me;

“only for roses that your chance may throw —

though withered — twill wear them on my brow,

to be a thoughtful fragrance to my brain —

warm’d with such love, that they will bloom again.”

“thy love before thee, i must tread behind,

kissing thy foot-prints, though to me unkind;

but trust not all her fondness, though it seem,

lest thy true love should rest on a false dream.”

“her face is smiling, and her voice is sweet;

but smiles betray, and music sings deceit;

and words speak false; — yet, if they welcome prove,

i’ll be their echo, and repeat their love.”

“only if waken’d to sad truth, at last,

the bitterness to come, and sweetness past;

when thou art vext, then turn again, and see

thou hast loved hope, but memory loved thee.”